Carpe Noctem
by PureLionn
Summary: High School AU: In a new town, Sam and Dean head into school preparing to be gone in a few months. When it doesn't happen, they suddenly realize they've built something. Dean finds himself falling for the eccentric Castiel, and makes good friends, friends he can trust. But when tides change, Dean needs to figure out how far he's willing to go to protect it.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

He tossed the old shirt at him without warning, causing the younger boy to giggle and pull it off his face.

"You're getting big, Sammy, soon you'll be needing new clothes," Dean commented, pulling his own shirt on over his head. He needed new clothes anyways, Dean thought to himself, pulling on his greyish-green jacket and turning around to look at his brother. They'd just moved though, and Dean was yet to find a job. They only had a few more months left until Christmas, and with their father gallivanting around it was likely he'd need to start saving now if he was going to manage to give Sam a good memory.

"I'm fine, actually," Sam said, pulling the blue plaid patterned fabric over his shoulders. He'd grown exponentially the past year, and it was getting to the point when Dean realized there was a good chance his brother might become taller than him. He hadn't even finished puberty yet, and the boy four years his junior was maybe two inches, maybe three, behind.

Hand-me downs would work for now, Dean thought regretfully, then forced himself to move on.

"Whatever you say," Dean muttered. "Now come on. I'll walk you over to the school,"

"I can walk myself," Sam scoffed. "You're school's further, in the other direction. You don't want to be late."

"I wouldn't mind actually. Now let's get going, okay?" Dean dismissed, and beckoned him out the door.

Their room led off into the kitchen-livingroom combo, which was covered in beer cans and empty whisky bottles, an overfilled ashtray stuffed with cigarette butts on the table. The carpet was stained, the paint was peeling, and there was a suspicious mold growing in the corner of the room. One old door led off to the bathroom, and another to their father's room.

Dull shades of grey and brown mixed together with the scent of late nights and bad TV, and Dean pretended like this wasn't where they were raising Sam. This was just a building, this wasn't home. This was a sleep spot. That's what he'd always said.

" _Dean, why do we have to live here. It smells like cat pee and smoke," seven year old Sam would complain._

" _Don't think of it as a home, more like… a sleep spot. A place for a roof, and nothing more. Home is wherever you want it to be, okay?" eleven year old Dean would assure him._

Dean had quickly figured out Home for Sam was school. The boy loved it, coming home with A+'s on projects and begging for Dean to take him to the library to research something for a class. He'd actually skipped fifth grade, and it was hard to believe that for the first time since elementary school, he and Sam would be in the same school next year.

The sun was just beginning to rise, and it was probably one of the last days of the year they'd walk to school in the sun. Winter was fast approaching. Sam would need a new coat, too. Or, at least a warm one.

Dad would never let them borrow the Impala though. Not once in a million years. Dean loved the vehicle personally. He loved helping dad tinker and play with it, getting it to purr perfectly and unlike any other thing they owned, it was nice. It was something him and his dad had actually bonded over. Something that, while working on, made it not so unbearable to be around each other.

But Dad would pack up and go at the drop of a hat, hunting somewhere, doing an odd job, leaving for some cheap motel room with a nice lady trying to put herself through college. Honestly. So he always made sure he had possession of the car.

The chill in the air woke Dean up completely, and they followed the worn grey sidewalk down the street. It was actually one of the nicer places they were sleeping in, in Dean's opinion. With mostly green grass, and mostly well kept houses. It was no utopia, but that was okay.

There was another young kid walking behind them, but they paid no attention to her, and she paid no attention to them.

Sam's school was low to the ground, blue, and had a picture of a diving hawk on the side of it. Kids were milling about the entrance, and entering school in October was harder than towards the end of the year, Dean had always found. He wasn't sure how Sam felt though.

The brothers stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the ground that the school was built on, waiting for a bit before Dean grabbed him roughly by the collar, shaking him playfully in the only thing he'd accept that was close to a hug.

"Alright kiddo, good luck," he said gruffly. "Don't beat anyone up, don't get in trouble-"

"Dean-"

"No drugs, don't skip class, pay attention-"

"Seriously Dean-"

"Don't get distracted by girls, don't sass the teachers, don't text in class-"

"I don't have a phone, Dean-"

"Don't-"

"Dean!"

"Sorry Sammy."

"I'll be fine," the younger Winchester assured him.

"I know you will," Dean agreed, and Sam took off towards the school, skipping down the steps, his three-years running blue backpack duct taped at the bottom and ready to go. Dean smiled, then turned and started making his way back towards the high school.

It was a little bit of a walk from Sam's school, but Dean liked being alone in the early mornings. The air was crisp, the dew on the grass still there, the sun peaking over the horizon. It would only get colder the longer they stayed, but Dean liked to be out here, because it let him cleanse himself of the alcoholic taste of their sleep spot.

He made it to school twenty-minutes after the bell rang. He probably could have made it, but Dean Winchester was not about to put an effort into going to school. So he stopped and inspected the houses a bit, admired a nice, big red truck on the side of the road with chrome hubcaps and none of those stupid stickers in the window.

His first period teacher was Mr. Harrison, for English. He sauntered into that class at 8:40 in the morning and immediately had every eye on him. Not that he minded, he'd be gone in a few months anyways.

Mr. Harrison looked up, raising an eye, then sighed. The rest of the class appeared to be working on something.

"Attention class," he declared, standing up from behind his desk. The class was already at attention, really, staring at Dean like he was a creepy new animal. Mr. Harrison's voice was grating and annoying, filled with a love of literature Dean really couldn't understand. He was older, with greying brown hair, and deep set eyes that stared off at them with a milky green shade. He was dressed casually, and stood with a limp. "This is Dean Winchester, he'll be joining us for the rest of the year," he announced, then sat back down. "Pick an open seat."

With that, the grade eleven kids lost interest in him as fast as they had looked up. Going back to a booklet filled with words. Words Dean didn't want to read. Words Dean couldn't be bother to interpret into something magical. He took a seat with no seat partner, hunched over his desk and wishing he could just drop out. He couldn't drop out though, because then what would Sam think?

Mr. Harrison dropped the booklet on his desk, and Dean sat up, looking down at it and reading the title.

Short Stories.

"Grade eleven English at Thornton Secondary is highly focusing on harnessing and developing the kid's own creative efforts," Mr. Harrison elaborated.

"Not the right tree to bark up, Mr. H," Dean muttered. The teacher seemed offended and stunned, but then nodded.

"For two weeks we'll be working on a minimum fourteen page short story. Any subject, as long as the contents are appropriate for school," Mr. Harrison said, this time his voice was clippy and already done with Dean's attitude. The boy laughed.

"That ain't gonna happen," Dean said, shaking his head.

"That isn't going to happen," the teacher corrected.

"I don't even own a computer!" Dean protested.

"Then you're writing by hand," Mr. Harrison reasoned. "Or, you could use the school library. The computer's there are pretty great."

Dean snatched the booklet in his hands, and the teacher huffed and turned away to answer another question. He read over the first page, finding it filled with ideas and options and examples. Damn it. A project? Really? This was not how Dean wanted his school year to go.

He could just… not do it. Take the bad grade.

"Hey," the boy in front of him said, turning around to face him. He had fluffy dark hair, hanging over large, bright blue eyes. His jaw was sharp and his nose angular, he looked a little older than the eleventh grade they were in, but Dean supposed some people just looked that way.

"Hey," Dean replied back sharply. "I'm trying to have an emotional meltdown, okay?"

"You know, it's not that hard of a project. We do one every year with Mr. Harrison. He loves projects. You kind of get used to it, and it's better than-"

"Can it, Shirley," Dean snapped.

"No, my name is Castiel-"

"Cas, Dean, stop talking and get back to your outlines," Mr. Harrison said, and 'Castiel' turned to get back to his work, leaving Dean once again in silence.

What the hell kind of a name is Castiel anyways. Probably some crazy hippie family he didn't want to get involved with. He had enough drama with his own family anyway.

Sighed, and certainly not plotting any sort of story graph, he sighed and leaned his head on his desk, closing his eyes. This school already sucked, and if Math and Science and Socials and whatever else they stuck him in sucked as much as this, well, he hoped dad would move again soon.

At least he had Mechanics and Woodworking to look forward to. Those classes were always tolerable, and he knew enough to impress the teacher into liking him.

He sighed, and waited for the bell.

Short stories, short stories… would he even write it? Obviously the question was yes, but it just didn't appeal to him. It didn't make sense. He didn't _want_ to. He didn't want a lot of things, obviously, but school was less important than most things. School was what Sam did. Dean worked.

Dean wanted Sam to be able to go to college, get a nice job and live a good, healthy life. They'd need money for that. If Dean dropped out now he'd be able to get a full-time job somewhere, start saving up.

Or, he could finish his GED and get a better job, and earn more money. Ah, darn. He didn't know. He didn't know. He wanted someone else to tell him.

The bell rang.

God, he hated english. And he doubted math would be much better.

To pass the time, he started planning his after school. He'd make sure Sammy got home, then he'd head out and try and find a job. Depending on how long that took he might see where dad was, then…

"Mr. Winchester, are you planning on sticking around forever?"

Oh, right. The bell rang.


	2. Chapter 2

**FYI: I changed the name from Sleep Spot to Carpe Noctem, and it may or may not change again. Likewise, until I permanently settle on a name, I won't have a cover. I'm working on one, but I don't want to publish a cover before I get a solid name.**

Chapter Two:

The rest of the school day went by slowly, dragging on and on, and since he was joining late, his woodworking teacher wouldn't even allow Dean to participate in the project.

"You can start on the next one, we're almost done this one," he'd said, in a snide, who cares about you voice.

So when the final bell rang on what seemed like the longest day of his life, Dean grabbed his stuff and fled out the door, never being more glad to see the lukewarm sunlight on pavement, or the sound of cars squealing out of the parking lot in excitement. They were off somewhere, heading out to the town to meet up with friends, play games, go shopping. Be teenagers, really. The downtown area was quite a walk though, and Dean wasn't sure Sam would even want to walk down, and he certainly didn't have any other friends.

But he started walking anyway, away from their home, and hoping Sam would be fine walking back by himself. Of course he would be, he wasn't a baby anymore. He just hadn't told Sam we wouldn't be home beforehand and he didn't want him to think anything had happened.

Dean didn't have much time to spare though, so he headed off, tucking his hands into his pockets, and following the residential streets.

At first, he passed several other students walking, many others heading home. But one by one they all turned off, into night houses and to waiting family. Dean cross a bridge, the highway hurtling below him, and on the other side of the bridge there was a 7/11, the first place Dean stepped into. The cool air was a change from the afternoon sun, and the old man behind the desk seemed entirely uninterested in him. There were chips and ice cream and chocolate, and almost as a consolation to those working, in one corner of the cooler they sold milk and cheese and eggs, like they were trying to be a real store.

"Hey, are you by any chance hiring?" Dean asked, stepping up to the counter.

"No, sorry," he replied back shortly. Dean huffed. Fine, then.

The next place he stumbled across was a small, corner bookstore. It was dusty and mildewy, and smelled of intelligence and culture. Probably not Dean's most ideal job, but if they were hiring…

"Hey, are you by any chance hiring?"

"Sorry, we're a family owned business."

"Well screw you too."

He tried a local fast food joint, which said he needed to apply online.

He tried a corner store, which said he needed a resume.

Another fast food place, again, apply online.

A restaurant who said he wasn't qualified.

It was five by the time he finished with his fourth or fifth place on the main drag of downtown, and he'd have to be getting back for dinner, Sam would be worried if it got too late.

And what did they have in the house for dinner? Bread, probably. Water. Unless dad got to it there was probably some beef jerky left. Truthfully, he hadn't gone shopping in a while. Maybe he should do that tomorrow after school. Oh, god, it was only Monday?

He returned to one of the fast food places he'd stopped at before, scanning the menu and stepping in line. It wouldn't hurt to grab something before he headed back.

He placed his order of whatever their 'Sizzlin' Original' was, making them combos and leaning against the counter as the chefs danced around in the back, hurrying to keep up to date with all the orders.

He tapped his fingers along the counter, only halting the rhythm when he heard the bell to the restaurant open, and looked up to see faces he was regretfully familiar with. Sort of. School kids, great, that's just what he needed. They probably wouldn't recognize him. He hadn't talked with anyone or done anything really to get any attention, so…

Oh, god, it's that kid with the weird name.

Cassidy, or whatever the kid had said his name was, stepped in beside two others, the first being a quite short, gold haired man who wouldn't have been in high school, the second being a shaggy, slightly taller, nervous looking mouse of a person. Cassidy, he noticed, was dressed to go to a funeral, in a black suit and trench coat, while the shortest of the group and the nervous mouse seemed more relaxed and dressed casually.

They stepped into line, and Dean watched them, realizing he wasn't recognized. The short one pulled something out of his pocket, twisting it until a wrapper fell away, carelessly to the floor, and he popped the red candy into his mouth, talking around the stick in a voice Dean couldn't hear. He offered one to the mouse, who shook his head and looked over at Cassidy.

"31?" the girl behind the counter asked, and Dean jumped, turning and smiling at her as she pushed his order towards him.

"Thanks sweetheart," he said.

"I'm fifteen," she replied back, turning to head back into the kitchen.

Well alright then.

He turned and headed out the door, the greasy bag hanging by his side, a little put off at the lack of success he'd had today.

"Dean?"

Crap.

He turned, smiling as he realized it was Cassidy, who smiled and seemed pleased to see someone outside of school. The short one had moved forward in the line and was talking to a the cashier.

"Hey, Cassidy, I'm just heading out, nice seeing you," Dean said, turning to escape.

"My name's Castiel," he corrected, frowning a bit.

"Really?" Dean scoffed, turning back to face him. "Cas-ti-elle? What kind of a name is that?"

"It's a biblical name, my father name be after an angel, in the bible," he explained, deadpan and obviously completely unaware that most people weren't named Castiel. But great, a bible loving family. Fan-tastic.

"Well that's great, now I've got to get going, it's a bit of a walk and I don't want to be late," Dean said, once again turning to leave, and being stopped.

"Where are you walking to?" Castiel asked.

"Twenty-second," Dean replied.

"You walked here from there? That's a long walk," the mouse said, his voice grating and nervous, like he didn't want to be talking as much as Dean didn't want to be talking.

"Oh, right, this is Chuck," Castiel introduced, beckoning to the mouse. At the same time, the shorter friend came back, carrying his own bag full of diabetes.

"And my older brother, Gabriel," he said, a little less enthusiastic.

"Hey-o," Gabriel said, waving past Dean and moving out the door.

"Lovely, again, I've got to get going," Dean said, waiting a heartbeat to see if the boy would try and talk again, but when Cas remained silent, he thought he was finally free, turning and heading out the door, passing Gabriel as he did so.

"Where you walking to, big guy?" the man said, pushing open the door at the same time Dean, trapping him beside the trio for a little bit as they walked.

"Twenty-second,"

"Wow-ee. That's a bit of a hike," Gabriel laughed. "Why don't you jump in our car? We'll give you a ride. We're heading up that way anyways," he said, turning to walk backwards while he talked.

"Gabe, we have Chuck, that's not technically legal," Castiel said, and Chuck nodded eagerly, and it occurred to Dean it was Gabriel he was uncomfortable with.

"A lot of things aren't technically legal," Gabriel agreed.

Dean glanced down at the old, black watch he had, seeing it was five-thirty now, and realizing he was a bit of a walk away. It would take him a while to get back, same would be hungry, worried, and breaking the law was not the highest of his concerns.

"If you're willing, sure, I won't pass up a free service," Dean said, and Castiel looked at him, almost offended.

"Wonderful!" he said, and led them over to a nice, sleek looking silver car. It wasn't anything extravagant, and Dean didn't think it was as nice as the Impala, but it was a well-kept, well owned car. Gabriel slid into the driver's seat, and Dean hung back to see where Castiel and Chuck would sit to decide where he'd get into.

Chuck took the shotgun seat, which surprised Dean a little bit, but Castiel beckoned for Dean to get in, and he didn't really have much to complain about.

The inside of the car was warm, and smelled like candy and sugar, and Dean noticed that there were wrappers and bits of garbage hiding in the cupholders and under the seats. Someone must have a serious sweet tooth.

Gabriel pulled out of the small parking lot quickly, squealing out onto the road much too fast, with way too much confidence, and Dean felt just the tiniest bit unsafe here.

Everything was silent for a while, until Gabriel apparently got tired of that, peering through the rearview mirror.

"So, _Dean,_ I suppose you're a friend of Cas'?" he asked.

"Friend is loose," Dean replied back. Gabriel shrugged.

"Sure, whatever," Gabriel agreed, turning his signal light on too late and ripping through and intersection dangerously.

Dean nodded, not really giving much more for him to talk with, and their driver rolled his eyes and turned back to what he was doing, the lollipop stick shifting between his teeth.

The car fell back into silence, and Dean felt like the fourth wheel. Which, while it should work, apparently they were on a tricycle. Dean's mind drifted off into a scenario when someone could be a fourth wheel, and why he was in that position if fourths worked well for cars, when something caught his sight.

There was a wooden cross, the string tied around one end snapped, and the wood itself chipped and cracked and broken, black pen scribbled out a biblical quote on the bottom of the cross.

"What's with the anti-Jesus?" Dean asked, leaning over to talk to Castiel in a quieter voice. The boy seemed a little confused, then saw the cross frowned.

"Gabriel, you left your rebellion on the floor again," Castiel scolded, suddenly stretching forward and grabbing it, holding it delicately with his hands as he squinted to make out the quote on the cross.

"I'll show you where my rebellion is," Gabriel growled playfully, but not really paying attention. Castiel frowned at this, but shook his head and moved on.

"It's a beautiful quote. _Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good._ Romans… 12:9, it looks like," Castiel went on, smiling at the verse before sticking the cross into the handle of the cars doorway.

"I take it that one's not part of the God Squad?" Dean said, tilting his head towards Gabriel.

"If by God Squad you mean christianity, than yes," Castiel confirmed, making Dean roll his eyes. "No family is perfect, Dean," Castiel said, "Ours just… fights over a lot of things."

"Probably not as much as mine," Dean challenged, before regretting the words.

"You haven't seen our family dinners," Castiel said, his voice just as flat as before, but now carrying a hint of remembrance, of thought. "I think the last time something wasn't thrown was when I was thirteen."

"Now you have to remember," Gabriel cut it, "We've got a big family. That many people couldn't get along related or not."

"That's true," Castiel agreed.

"Well, dinner at my house isn't really a picnic either," Dean said, feeling a little defensive. He'd always thought of his family as the most dysfunctional.

"I'd have to see it to compare," Castiel reasoned.

"Then you'll see," Dean snapped.

"Is that an invitation?" Castiel said, tilting his head. Dean froze. What?

"No! No it's not! Stay out of my house!" Dean snapped, and he heard Chuck laughing, so he folded his hands together and turned his head to look out the window, avoiding looking back. These people were crazy, and they were making him crazy.

They turned into the residential area, and Dean leaned forward to give them directions, until they pulled to a halt in front of their tiny, molding, rundown house, and now Dean wished he'd given them directions elsewhere and walked the difference.

The house was a single story, with brown siding covered with mold and breaking, the shingles on the roofs were snapping a bit, the yard was overgrown, weeds and grass and probably spiders everywhere. The window was covered in caked on dust, showing only a rundown couch on the inside.

Dean grabbed his bag of grease, shoving open the door and feeling his ears burning red, as the rest sat. Chuck looked sympathetic, as if he could actually empathize with Dean. Gabriel was astonished, and Castiel looked thoughtful, regarding it objectively.

"Thanks!" Dean called, hoping to wave them off. Gabriel changed the gears on the car, and at the same time Sam came out of the house running over the grass in socked feet, looking at the car, confused, but Dean grabbed his collar before he could say anything, dragging him inside.

He was red, now, and it was a strange feeling. Dean hadn't, not once, cared what people knew or thought about him. He'd even used his own life to hold above others. But there was something about Castiel, about Gabriel and the mouse, Chuck with their nice car and big family and offering to drive him home. He didn't want them to think he didn't take care of himself, or the house, or god-forbid thought he didn't take care of Sam.

"I brought dinner," Dean said gruffly.

"Who were those guys?" Sam said, not letting Dean skip around the subject.

"A kid from my class," Dean replied.

"There were three in the car."

"And his brother, and friend, I guess," Dean shrugged, still uncomfortable.

"You're blushing."

"Shut up and eat your burger Sammy," Dean snapped, but couldn't muster and ferocity into it.

"Did you actually make a friend?" Sam exclaimed. He seemed excited, ignoring the food Dean pulled out of the bag, handing it over.

"It's been a day, Sam, you don't make friends in a day," Dean scoffed.

"I did," he said excitedly, finally taking the burger and heading over to the couch, where him and Dean both sat down, angled towards each other. "His name's Kevin. He's in advanced placement and is so intelligent. He's working on like… three different personal projects, and is knows a whole bunch of languages and military code systems!"

Sounds exactly like the type of kid Dean wouldn't been beating on when he was in grade eight.

"That's great Sammy," Dean muttered.

"Was your day good?" Sam asked.

"Not many people are hiring, but I'll keep looking. I'm sure somewhere somebody will need help," Dean said quietly, then before Sam could say anything else, added, "So where's dad at?"

"There was a note. "Gone out, might be back in a few weeks, heading towards Oregon," Sam recited, and Dean could imagine him getting home, finding the note, reading the words over and over again until he could hear John saying them.

"He's a crazy one," Dean muttered. Oregon, geez. That was far. They really were on their own for a bit.

Sam laughed a bit, and Dean figured that was all he really need. Who cares what Castiel and his family thought of his house or him? Or if he had a job. He could still make Sam laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

"Dean!" Sam shouted, the door slamming open then closed, and Dean looked up, stuffing the papers he'd been working on under his butt and sitting up to watch his younger brother enter the room.

"What is is, Sammy?" Dean asked, quietly and unnoticeably shifting the textbook he'd been using as a hard surface down to the floor. He didn't know why he seemed embarrassed for Sam to see that he - Dean Winchester - was actually working on homework. He'd become a little bit obsessed, mostly because he'd found something that had peaked his interest, something that had made the short story project more interesting.

It was all that stupid Castiel's fault.

" _So what's your story about then?" Dean had asked him one morning, finding him proof reading one of the drafts he'd printed out._

" _My home is so biblical and crazy, I decided to work that into my story. I'm telling a normal household story from my place, except we're all angels in Heaven. Gabriel won't stop screwing with things, he's got some of the strongest magic. I think I'm gonna give it a twist in the end and make Chuck God," he said laughing at his own idea and looking up at Dean. "What about you?"_

" _I'm not doing it," Dean said._

" _Of course you are, it's a school project. You don't have a choice," Castiel scoffed, as if this was obvious._

Dean had, at the time, moved on quickly to his first class, but that day his first period was English, and he found his brain wandering. Castiel had a good idea. Family was something Dean could write about. He'd started thinking, and the story came together. What if they're father wasn't just a lazy jackass? What if he was hunting more than deer and rabbits?

He'd aged them, of course, but he was enjoying writing out a fictitious life, writing out Sam and him, fighting monsters and demons. Having fourteen pages, he'd mapped it out to spend the first seven detailing him and his brother hunting a monster he'd heard of before, a Skinwalker, through Kansas. The second half was going to be meeting a Demon, having their whole lives flipped and thrown around, everything they believed wrong. This was easier to write, the emotions, the idea, it came simple. He wasn't sure how he was going to end it, but he did know he'd killed half the time allotted for the project not doing it, so he only had seven days to write out the entire story.

"Can I go to the library?" Sam asked. "Kevin and I are working on a project for science and we need to do some research on Beavers," he explained, throwing his bag onto the table. Dean frowned.

"Beavers?"

"Beavers."

" _Beavers?_ " Dean said, once again. "Why?"

"Well… Also otters, but Kevin's focusing on otters," Sam went on, a little less enthusiastically.

"Why-"

"It's a project on aquatic mammals, Dean, I don't understand why this is hard," Sam said.

"Yeah, sure, we can head to the library," Dean said, saiding up and grabbing the notes he had, written in scribbled and bad handwriting, the words dark and bold and messy.

"Oh, you don't have to come, I know the way," Sam said, and Dean paused.

"I need to get some work done anyway," Dean said gruffly. "I need to write up a resume, so some places with actually consider me." It wasn't a complete lie, Dean supposed, but the truth was he wanted to write his story out on the computer. Castiel had his first draft printed already, and the way he sat in english, a red pen, circle words, adjusting placement. It was appealing. Or, perhaps, Dean just wanted to feel like a student that could afford nice looking ways of doing things. Maybe he didn't want to hand in a handwritten story.

"Oh, alright," Sam said.

The brothers packed up again, heading out the old door and heading down the street. It really wasn't that long of a walk, the public library located at the edge of the neighbourhood, beside a Subway and a bottle depot. The bottle depot and the Subway mixed to create a very unusual scent, and the boys quickly jumped up the stairs to the library and ducked inside.

It had been cooler out today, so Dean found that stepping inside his jacket became a little stuffy to have on. He didn't take it off though, instead having to suddenly pay attention to the fact that Sam had run off, calling: "Kevin's over there! I'll come find you where we're done!"

Now alone, Dean slid over to the small computer section, finding the only other person there was a red-haired girl, maybe about his age, sitting with heavy, quality headphones on, fingers tapping rapidly at some MMO on the screen. Dean watched with interest, almost bothered asking her what she was playing, and if that was appropriate for the library, but then shook his head. He had a job to do.

First, the resume, so Sam wouldn't think he was lying.

It didn't take long, maybe half an hour, writing out and condensing everything. Dean actually had to leave some of his work experience out, picking just what reflected best. He'd made so many of these, but he always lost the file when they moved. It was easy.

Then he pulled out his scribbly notes, reading over them and pulling up Microsoft Word.

He began writing.

 _Sam Winchester was never going to have a normal life. It wasn't that he was smarter than other people, or taller, but rather that his brother showed up one night, asking him to help him find their father._

 _Their dad had always been into hunting. Of course, he'd never taken them along, never had any pictures, the boys had grown up without any hint as to what their father actually did. What actually went on when he left the room._

 _This time was different though. This time, he hadn't taken the beautiful, 67' Chevy Impala. That had been left behind, and now he was gone. There was a note. "Gone hunting, be back next week', but next week had come and gone and there was no sign of John Winchester._

 _So Dean went to the only person he could trust to help him find their father. Regretfully, Sam had agreed, and Dean had gotten into the car. They'd driven off, off towards where they thought he might be, off to where John usually went._

 _They had no idea what he was hunting._

 _The road blurred beneath them, black asphalt dropping away beneath their tires, the wind. Dean wouldn't admit it, but he'd have been fine, if this was their life. If Sam didn't have to go back to school, if they could just be the two of them, never needing anyone else._

" _What do you think dad's gotten into now?" Sam asked, his voice pensive. He wasn't used to this, Dean realized. Dean dealt with dad often, coming home drunk, angry. Having to drive for three hours to find him passed out in a hotel room. He didn't know this was, to a terrible extent, normal._

" _He's probably just forgotten to text us that he'll be late," Dean shrugged._

PLEASE LET ANOTHER USE THE COMPUTER, THANKS FOR VISITING

Dean jumped, the beep and the sudden warning shocking him out of the zone. The computers had an hour limit, he supposed. He hadn't noticed though. He glanced behind him, seeing nobody, then over to the rows of empty computers. But the computer reset itself, and he had to log onto it again.

The file was gone.

"What the Hell!" he exclaimed, slamming his hand against the weak desk the computers sat on, frantically searching through the empty list of non-existent word documents. His work was gone! He wrote for half an hour and had to do it again? That's not fair! The one time he tries to do homework, and the world betrays him.

"Woah, dude, you okay?" someone asked, and he glanced over to see the red-head staring at him, a little concerned, but still half focused on her game. "You're pulling some strange faces."

"Sorry, the thing ate my progress!" Dean growled. She rolled her eye.

"AFK guys, cover me," she said, then removed the headphones, moving over in the rows of seats to sit beside him. "What were you working on?"

"Word," Dean answered shortly.

"That's your problem," she scoffed. "Use Drive for god's sake. You don't want to concern yourself with Word, especially at a library."

"What's Drive?" Dean asked.

"What's Drive?" she echoed. "What's wrong with you? Have you never used email?"

"I've never owned a computer," Dean countered. She stared at him like he was some kind of freakish alien, so Dean gave her his fakest, biggest smile, and she took a deep breath.

"If you want to work on anything at a library you need Drive, okay?" she said. The girl shoved past him, reaching over to the computer and taking the mouse from him, opening the interest, switching through different sites.

"Alright, create an email account," she ordered, and leaned back.

 _Dean_Winch_

"Alright," she said, and as it logged him in and asked if he wanted some help she cancelled everything, quickly showing him around the site. "Here's Drive," she went on. "It's great because it saves as you go, and since it's done on the Cloud you can access it from any computer if you log onto your laptop, so when it kicks you out again, it won't be that much of a hassle to get back to work."

"Thanks, uh, girl," Dean said gruffly, then to remedy that terrible sentence he added: "My name's Dean."

"I know," she said. "You wrote that in your email address. Charlie."

"Good to meet you. Thanks for the help," Dean said, and she smiled, then scooted back over to her computer, pulling up her game and right before she put her headphones back on, he called: "Why hasn't it kicked you off yet?"

"Oh, I just disabled the time system," she said, as if this was obvious. Dean raised an eye. Well, he'd have to remember this girl, in case he needed an electronic favour.

She was sucked back into the game, so Dean went to rewrite all his work. God, that was annoying. But another hour passed, and when he got forced off and logged back in, he found indeed that he could get all his work passed, and soon he'd way surpassed what he'd been working on before, and got back into it.

 _Sam and Dean stopped at the rundown motel, used to living less than glamorously, grabbing a room and dropping their stuff tiredly. This day had been stressful, that was for sure. First of all, their father wasn't… hunting animals? Maybe? This whole situation, the whole, creepy, paranormal twist, that wasn't sitting well with him._

" _What do you think the chances are of this thing being a… Skinwalker?" Sam asked, stretching and sitting down._

" _I don't know," Dean admitted._

" _We could do a lot more good if we had those police files," Sam muttered. "But they're never going to let us see them. We need FBI badges, or someone to hack into them."_

" _That's a good idea," Dean commented._

" _That's illegal though," Sam reasoned._

" _So?" Dean said, "Give me a moment."_

 _He pulled out his phone, dialling the number of an old friend, someone he hadn't spoken to in the last little while. It rang, once, twice._

" _Hello?"_

" _Hey, Charlie, it's-"_

Dean stopped. That was too obvious. Backspace-backspace-backspace… Names… Names… That's it!

" _Hello?"_

" _Hey, Celeste," Dean said, "I've got a job for you."_

"Hey! Dean!" Dean pulled himself out of the story, turning to find Sam heading over, followed by a gangly asian kid Dean didn't want to start a conversation with. "We're ready to go, if you to get out of here," Sam said.

"Is this one coming with?" Dean said, pointing to, most likely, Kevin.

"Yeah, if that's alright," Sam said.

Wasn't he embarrassed? They'd be taking Kevin to cigarettes and beer and mold. He supposed if Sam wasn't to put off by this, neither should he be, but it was still a little awkward. But whatever.

"Of course, let's go," Dean said, standing up and quickly closing Drive. He wasn't done. In fact, he was only two and a half pages in, but he couldn't tell Sam he couldn't go home because he wasn't ready, not when he only came for a resume, which he printed off more than an hour ago.

So he stood up, and followed Sam and his friend out the door, and down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, following behind the two boys as they less that inconspicuously tried to walk a little fast to distance themselves from Dean. He didn't mind though. It sucked being reminded that Sammy was growing up, but Dean knew, as a teenager himself, that sometimes you needed to not be overheard by overbearing parental figures.

They were laughing, Kevin a full head shorter than Sam, yet looking way more mature than the gangly moose-teddy bear physique Sam had. Kevin drew out a book, holding it out for Sam to read something and he heard Sam groan and Kevin laughed and for a moment, once again, Dean found that he didn't mind this place they were in.

This neighbourhood, this town, this school, it was better than a lot of the places they were in. Sure, Dean hadn't gotten a job yet, but Sam was making real friends. He was learning.

Maybe Dean was making friends too. He'd said that you can't make friends in a day, but clearly Sam had scoped out and caught his prime choice for a friend in a day. And it was just over a week since they moved now anyways.

"Hey Dean!" Sam called, turning to face them. "What are we doing for dinner?"

"We've got peanut butter and bread," Dean offered. "Or I suppose we could order pizza," he added, almost as a reflex, as not to force Kevin into an uncomfortable situation. He'd gone shopping, dragging weak bags up the hills to their house, but it was still sparse. Apples and peanut butter and bread and macaroni and eggs, water and milk. Whatever was the minimum Dean thought they'd need, at least, until he got a job.

"Pizza sounds great! We haven't had that since we moved!" Sam shouted back, and turned to talk with kevin again.

Fourteen dollars on a pizza wouldn't make or break them, Dean decided.

It was later in the evening when they arrived home, and he watched as Sam and Kevin disappeared into the back of the living room, and Sam pulled out an old board game, Sorry!. One of the only entertainment pieces they had.

He was impressed, really, with Kevin. He didn't seem to blink or comment at Sam's state of living, he engaged in the game readily, they laughed, talked. Maybe this wasn't such a bad sleep spot for them.

Maybe Dean should put in the effort to make a friend. Maybe, here, he could do more than make snide comments at teachers and make fun of nerdy boys.

He dialled the phone, waiting as it rang, once, twice…

Or, he reasoned with a more realistic view on the world. They'd move in a month and a half and Sam would be ripped away from his fast friend, and whatever Dean had built would be gone too. So maybe it wasn't worth it. It never was. He glanced over at Kevin as the company on the other end picked up.

Kevin was a nice kid.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

"Halloween's coming soon," Chuck commented, picking at the food that was in front of him, mindlessly, sort of, as the lunch day wore on. "Are you guy's doing anything?"

The question was directed at Dean and Castiel, who glanced at each other before back at Chuck, who still looked expectant. Was Dean doing anything for Halloween? He didn't usually. It was a waste of money to buy candy for other kids, and it's not like they had friends to dress up for. They'd usually just stay home and play a game of some sort.

"I'd love to," Castiel said. "But my family's not really big on Halloween. Come back for Christmas, if you want celebration," he said, looking back to his food.

"Why don't you come over to my house then?" Chuck said. "My parents are out for the weekend, and they said I could have a few friends over if I wanted."

"Maybe, if Dean goes," Castiel said, looking up to the boy in question. Dean frowned.

"Me? Why me?" he echoed.

"I can blame any bad behaviour on you, that's why," Castiel said, and for a brief moment cracked a smile. Dean almost smiled back, but he was still getting used to the idea of having friends, let alone visiting houses and having playdates.

"I can probably go," Dean said. "But I'd need to have Sam with me, if that's alright. I wouldn't leave him alone on Halloween."

"Awesome!" Chuck declared. "I've never hosted a Halloween party before."

Dean didn't have much to say to that, so he went back to eating, but it only took a moment before Chuck started talking again.

"Did you get Mr. Harrison's project done? It's due tomorrow," he said, lifting his head again, and speaking through a mouthful.

"I am done," Dean declared proudly, sitting back in his chair and with a challenging glint in his eyes, as if daring anyone to scoff at him. Castiel and Chuck though had no prior knowledge of him or his habits, and seemed unimpressed by this. Most people were done.

"I finished mine yesterday night," Castiel admitted. "I kept adding in scenes until I had like twenty pages. What did you write yours on again?"

"Demo-" Dean began, but then cut himself off as he realized Cas had directed that to Chuck.

"I used an old short story of mine," he dismissed. "Vampires or something. Honestly, working on my own things while doing his project is tiring, so I just pulled out something old," Chuck admitted, and Dean stared at him.

"How much time do you spend writing?" Dean asked.

"What's the numerical equivalent of 'all of it'?" Chuck answered, and Dean turned away.

With Castiel's twenty pages and Chuck not even having to write anything, Dean was suddenly a little less proud of the story he'd managed to write, scraping by halfway through the fifteenth page. He wasn't going to be bitter about it, but he was glad when once against the conversation seemed to switch.

" _Hey!"_

" _Watch where you're going!"_

" _Ow!"_

The group spun around, watching two dark-haired girl's fighting, the one, apparently the victim, who had been heading their way, had blonde, dyed hair, and they watched, fascinated and stunned, as the other girl shoved her down, sending her skidding across the floor. Dean thought they were going to start hissing.

He was so preoccupied with the fight though, he hadn't even noticed Castiel stand up and disappear, until he appeared in the fight, pacing over and standing between them, pushing the attacker back when she tried to lunge at the other girl. When the attacker seemed to be about to fight back, Dean felt his breath catch in his throat as he realized Castiel looked like he was ready to throw a punch himself.

Castiel? Really? He seemed not at all the type of person to fight someone. He was innocent, he was literal, he was, well, he was Castiel. He was an angel, not a… fighting… person.

But the girl huffed and turned away, snarling something vicious, and Cas held out a hand to the girl on the ground, who took it and pulled herself to her feet.

They headed back to the table, the girl brushing herself off and acting like nothing had happened.

"Those girls are basically demons," Chuck whispered to Dean as they moved around and sat down across from them. He could see in Chuck's eyes that this new girl was not someone he liked to associate with, and he wondered how Castiel knew her.

"Who's your gal pal," Dean said, stretching out the words.

"Oh, right. This is Meg," he said, waving his hands at the girl, as if that was enough.

"Why's she picking fights," Dean said, in the same tone.

"I'm not picking fights!" Meg jumped in, her voice was rough but soft, with a deeper tone to it that gave her a commanding, intellectual sound. "Ruby jumped me! I swear, she's been out to get me since we got here."

"Meg's an old friend of mine," Castiel explained, and Dean raised an eye. They were sitting close, and certainly had the air about them of old friends. Invading personal space, communication without words. He'd leapt up to help her…

Dean couldn't help but roll his eyes and wondered how he had gone the whole few weeks he'd been here thinking Castiel didn't have any friends. Obviously there was Chuck, and now Meg, but Castiel was amazing - of course he had friends, how could he not?

Dean didn't want to admit that he liked the idea of being Castiel's friend, one of his only. It made him feel… wanted. Like he wasn't just a passerby. It made this place, this school, feel so much more real.

That was never going to be the case, Dean reasoned. Castiel was always going to have better friends, and Dean was always going to have to move away eventually.

It left a bitter taste on his tongue, so Dean bit it and looked down as Meg and Cas started talking, Chuck also avoiding eye contact and finishing his meal. It didn't matter to Dean that there was a small voice his in head - the smart voice - telling him that it's not about friendship that Dean was jealous for. But that voice could go shove itself in the dark place it came from.

Just when Dean was thinking he was going to have to excuse himself to get away from this horrid situation, he felt his phone vibrate.

Checking the message, he found it was from Charlie.

On one of the many other days Dean had gone down to the library to write his story, he'd seen her again. And many times after that, as she was there often.

Turns out whenever her mom shouted at her, or they fought, or anything happened, she'd go to the library to play or surf the internet. She'd tell her mom that she'd been out walking, or out with friends, and it made her mother less angry thinking her child wasn't spending so much time online. Jokes on her.

She fought we her mom a lot then, and her and Dean had become quick friends, after he got over how annoying her triads about different fantasy worlds could be. Once he'd gotten her number, he found that she was more than willing to text him 'memes' he barely understood at any point in the day, or just useless images of wherever she was at the moment.

Dean was pretty sure she was still in school, but she didn't seem to care.

'I finished your story! It's really good!' the message read.

Dean had given her a copy of her short story, after he admitted to writing her in as Celeste - a character he'd eventually started to really like.

'Thanks. I'm glad.' he sent back. It wasn't long though, as Charlie typed very quickly, before he got a reply back.

'You have to write more! I showed it to some kids at my school and they all really loved it!'

Write more?

'The projects done though,' Dean sent back.

'So?' was the reply.

So was a good point. He'd never anticipated writing anything, school or no school, but he couldn't just… writing another story for fun, could he?

 _Why not?_ The Inner voice asked. _You don't have any hobbies apart from the cars._

He did have a lot of free time. He'd managed to secure a job at Arby's, but it wasn't a full time job, and he wasn't getting that many hours. No, it was ridiculous. Writing was an academic's game. Dean was jock, the interruption in class.

Not that he'd been doing much of that this year. He'd neglected to join any teams, since it was unlikely he'd get to play any games, and he barely spoke in class. He hadn't even bothered to be friends with the cool kids. He was sitting with the nerds he'd usually make fun of.

"Earth to spaceman," Meg's voice broke his concentration, and he looked up at her in vague annoyance. "Dude, the bell rang, are you coming?"

"What do you mean I got 76 percent?" Dean shouted, tossing the stapled bunch of paper off the desk, the rest of the class turning to stare at him, but he barely noticed. Mr. Harrison turned suddenly, eyes wide, confused, and uncertain about what the problem was. He still had papers to hand out, but Dean was unconvinced this should wait. "I poured hours of work into this, and I get _76?_ No - No way!"

"It just wasn't that great, Dean," Mr. Harrison said, as if that was any justification.

"This is the first project I've ever handed in on time!" Dean shouted. "For me, this is at _least_ an 85. This is my best work I could possibly do!"

"Maybe if you handed more work in, you'd have practice," Mr. Harrison said, a little less comfortable now. Well, good. He shouldn't sit up at his desk on his high horse handing 76% out to those who gave 100%.

"Are you saying I'm just a 76? My best is barely good enough? How the Hell am I supposed to be inspired for my future if all of my efforts amount to nothing?" he shouted, and suddenly it was more than the paper.

Dean had, true to his word, never handed in anything on time. He was always going to be gone in a few weeks. He was always going to have a new teacher to screw with. Mr. Harrison, like it or not, had been the first teacher Dean had tried to work for.

Dean had put in 100% of his heart, his soul, his personality - everything was in that story. It was the story of him and Sammy, being screwed over by their father, having to clean up his messes, having to save the world. Or, at least, their world. That was it. That was who he was, and this jackass had the audacity to give it a 76?

"What was wrong with it?" Dean shouted, noticing Mr. Harrison hadn't said anything back, stunned.

"The plot was thin, the characterization was bad, the setting-"

"The characterization?" Dean growled. "The characterization?" he repeated, louder. Mr. Harrison looked a little startled, but Dean was wound up and he was going to drive this thing into his skull if it was the last thing he did. "The characterization was me! It was my brother! That's who we are! Is the characterization bad when I work until midnight every night to feed us? Is the characterization bad when I have to save the entire year to make sure we have enough pencils to write your stupid stories? Is the characterization bad when my father leaves in the middle of the night and we don't seem him again for weeks? I haven't seen him for two weeks, Harrison! Don't tell me I got his character wrong!"

The entire class stared at them, eyes wide. Dean was standing now, hunched over the desk, knuckles turning white, eyes watering. Not because he was going to cry - no, there was just too much tension here for his body to stay calm. He was twitching, buzzing. Mr. Harrison looked scared, actually, as they squared off.

Out of the bottom of his eyes, he could see Castiel looking up at him, with his big, blue eyes, and fluffy hair. Looking much too innocent to be associated with the trainwreck that was Dean Winchester.

Chuck was across the room, swallowing nervously and tapping his fingers.

"I think you need to-" Mr. Harrison began meekly, but Dean cut him off.

"I'll leave," he growled, grabbing his stuff and stalking down the aisle of the class, the centre of everyone's attention. He didn't care though. He wasn't embarrassed. He was glad. He was glad that they saw who he was. They should all know that he'd not someone you can screw around with. He's not just the boy who hangs out with the nerds.

He was in the hallway now, and nobody was around, and he didn't have to be angry anymore. He wasn't, even, he was exhausted. He had been working until midnight - a closing shift - yesterday, and he had to walk home since he didn't have a car, and wouldn't dare pay for a taxi. He hadn't gotten home until one in the morning, and he'd had to wake up at six thirty… And he had to do it again tonight. It was the only shift he could take. They had workers available for the rest of the day, and they didn't want part time for the weekends. So he closed, because everybody was willing to trade away those shift or take the day off.

"Dean?" he heard someone calling, a soft voice, but rough, growly, something he'd found annoying, but had come to actually like. Castiel.

He was leaning against the wall, and looking out between tired, red eyes to see the scruffy looking boy pacing over to him. How had Cas gotten out of class? After that he didn't think anything could convince Mr. Harrison to let kids leave.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, closing his eyes again, and taking a deep breath.

"Why don't you talk to me?" Castiel offered, and Dean huffed.

"I don't need a therapist."

"I read your story, Dean, I think you do."

Well, he couldn't argue with that logic. Castiel took his hand, gently, the soft skin a strong contrast to Dean's calloused and well worn ones, and led him to a bench, where he tugged his hand gently to get him to sit, like a rider leading a horse.

And Dean did tell him. Not everything, sure. Castiel didn't need all of his emotional baggage. But he did tell him about the late night shifts, the stress for food, the fact that he didn't know where his father was at the moment, and he didn't know when he'd be back. That Sammy needed a strong parental figure, and he wasn't sure if that was him or not.

And after gentle prodding, Dean told him about Mary Winchester, and the nightmare that would waking him up at night, with her burning on the ceiling, screaming at him to help.

She hadn't died that way, of course, but she'd been killed in a house fire. One that John had never recovered from, and one Dean had just barely managed to get himself and Sammy out of. In the nightmare though - oh, that was so much worse. He'd open his eyes, and his mother would be looking down at him, blood dripping from an unhinged mouth, screaming silently, then flames would erupt, burning around her and licking at her flesh, her hair, everything was burning. Why was it always burning…

That night, at 12:07am, Dean left Arby's, tired, broken, the day still wearing into him, to find a sleek silver car waiting for him, and a dark-haired angel driving.


	5. Chapter 5: Halloween Special

**Notice: I apologize for a few errors in the last chapter. I hadn't realized the symbols I'd used for breaks wouldn't show up, so there's a jump between Meg talking and him yelling at Mr. Harrison that doesn't show up. (on mobile at least) I've used something else now so I hoped it's fixed.**

 **Also, Since I didn't want to break Halloween night up, and I had a lot I wanted to happen, I've decided I'm going to do holidays or special events as 'specials' or whatever you want to call it. Just because I don't like splitting them down the middle. So I present to you, the Halloween Special!**

 **Please keep commenting and leave your opinion for me. I really love seeing what you all think, it honestly makes my day. Thank you for the support and please, keep reading! Sorry... I don't usually write this much in the beginnings. I just wanted you guys to know I really appreciate everyone who follows, favourites, or comments.**

Chapter Five: Halloween Special

Halloween night arrived. Chuck was terrified. Notoriously, he'd find himself the victim of someone's vicious, usually terrifying, halloween prank. That was when he went out though, when he attempted to visit someone else's party or local event.

This year was different. He'd be with Castiel, one of the more innocent and naive of the school, and the new boy, Dean Winchester. He didn't know much about the later (or the former, but for much different reasons), but they seemed to get along well enough, and his younger brother would be there, and from what he'd seen that would probably keep Dean in check from doing anything… rash.

That is, if he showed up. Chuck had been beginning to believe Dean might choose to not show, as in the last week leading up to Halloween he had been increasingly strained and distant, but, thankfully, still there.

Chuck paced around the room, stopping briefly in front of a small wooden table to adjust the positions of bowls to candy and chips, an array of movies set out for selection, the scariest he could find. Which, admittedly, weren't really that scary.

He rubbed his hands together, straightening out a few more things. How did you throw a party? Did you have to have a schedule? Were there parameters he had to follow?

The room was relatively big, nothing inside was expensive, sure, and it was a little rundown, with fading red wallpaper and old grey carpet. Mostly wooden furniture, old, scratches on every corner and surface. It looked straight out of the nineties, as if nothing had been replaced since then. Chuck paced around, the room silent, waiting as the sun fell further from the horizon. It was Saturday night, Halloween, and he was more excited than when he had been a child.

Chuck himself had dressed up, throwing on an awkwardly put together dracula-esq vampire costume. It was cliche in design, with the black and red cape, faded suit, stick in fangs and he'd gelled his hair back, using some white paint - a choice he was sure he'd regret later - to make it looked like he was greying at the temples.

He hadn't really told anyone else to dress up. He'd hinted that he would be, and he was hoping the others did too. Otherwise he'd just look like a fool.

When the doorbell rang for the first time, he tossed a coin between Castiel or Sam and Dean, the former turning out be correct as he threw open the door. He, at first, was disappointed to find that Cas wasn't in costume, until he realized that he was.

"I wasn't really sure what an angel would actually wear, so…" he apologize, playing with his overcoat.

Castiel was dressed as he normally was when it wasn't super hot, or in school, with a black suit and the trench coat. His tie was flipped around, on purpose or not Chuck couldn't tell, and the tan overcoat so iconic to the teenager hung undone around his shoulders.

What was dressy about him though was that he'd clipped black, fluffy wings to his back, and had what seemed to be like a dollar-store headband holding a glittery, tinsel-like halo above his head. He smiled, and Chuck laughed, beckoning him inside.

Dean and Sam had to walk to Chuck's house, which, thankfully, wasn't that far. It was a fair walk, but with everyone else heading out for Trick-or-Treating, it wasn't that awkward too strange, and they passed tons of people who'd gone full out for their costumes, and there were children rushing around as ladybugs and spidermen and squealing while they consumed way too much candy.

Sam had dressed up, somewhat ironically, Dean hoped, in all brown clothes, a small tail similar to a rabbits, furry antlers he'd found at the dollar store, and he'd used a marker to paint his nose red.

" _I'm Rudolph, Dean," Sam had explained._

" _Sammy, it's Halloween."_

" _Exactly. Halloween, and I'm Rudolph."_

Dean really hoped this sarcastic irony was just a phase, but he really couldn't be sure. Sam sure though his costume was brilliant.

Dean though he should have left the nose off and gone as a moose, but that wasn't his call.

They'd already had the debate for if they should dress up.

" _Cas and Chuck are both gonna be dressed up," Sam assured him._

" _They aren't going to be dressed up," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "They're too old for that."_

They were both dressed up, Dean discovered when Chuck excitedly opened the door, practically bouncing on his heels as he beckoned them inside. Chuck had gone all out, and Castiel - whom Dean originally believed to be not dressed up, for one reason or whatever, turned out to have wings pinned to his shoulders and a halo over his head, a fitting, but annoying costume given that that made Dean the only one undressed.

"You're not in costume," Castiel commented, barely seconds after Dean had finished evaluating everyone else.

"I didn't think anyone would be in costume," he admitted, looking around the house. It was a nice house. Nicer than theirs but modest. Clearly no CEOs or Celebrities living here. They moved inside and Chuck led them downstairs, through a narrow hallway and into a basement living room of sorts.

"Oh, right," Dean said after a moment of stepping down stairs. "This is my brother, Sam."

"Good to meet you Sam," Chuck said, and Castiel echoed the sentiment quieter.

"Uh, that one's Chuck," Dean said, pointing out to the boy dressed as a vampire, "and the other one's Cas."

"Thanks," Sam said, quietly and a little out of place. Dean knew he wasn't the most comfortable here, as they never really did anything for halloween. But he had been just as excited at the idea of going to a real party as Dean had expected, as they rarely ever had time or got invited.

"So," Dean said, clapping his hands together. "When's everyone else arriving?"

"Everyone else?" Chuck said, jerking his head up from where he was fiddling with a radio, a crack in his voice. "I didn't invite anyone else… I guess I could text… uh… Anna… Or Castiel could invite Gabriel or his brothers… Or… Ah… that girl Becky from my social's class…"

Dean raised an eye. This was not a party. This was a glorified playdate. It didn't make it better when Chuck got the radio to work, and the first tune that it managed to squeak out was some twangy country sound. Now, Dean didn't really mind country, but for a party he wasn't going to suffer through the heartbroken guy and something about a tractor, honestly.

"Well, if we're not gonna have a party we may aswell play some decent music," Dean grumbled, passing an embarrassed Chuck and spinning the radio's dial, static popping and fizzing as strangled words barely made it through, until he found the station he was looking for, the hard sound of a guitar shining through first, and a male singer shouting some life moral in a rock-song beat.

"That's more like it," Dean declared, spinning around to find the others and feeling satisfied when he saw Sam smiling.

"Oh, okay," Chuck agreed, and Castiel simply dipped his head, as if he was confirming this was how parties worked to his own brain.

"So what are we going to do first?" Dean asked. "Alcohol? Scare some little kids? Ouija boards?"

"Oh, uhm, I have some movies… and some board games and candy…" Chuck said awkwardly, turning to wave his hand towards a pile of old board games.

Before Dean could tell him how uselessly childlike that was, Castiel beat him to it.

"Ooh! Sorry!" he said, moving behind Chuck and grabbing the board game, lifting it up to show Dean and smiling with such an honest, alcohol free way that he couldn't bring himself to insult the boy's choice of game. "I love this game, we play it all the time at my house."

"Alright, game settled," Chuck agreed, and the two set to work setting up the game. Sam laughed as he saw Dean's unbelievable disappointed face - he clearly wasn't expecting to be playing Sorry! And sitting around with three other guys all night. At least, not without alcohol.

But he sat down across from Chuck and they gave him the blue pieces, and Sam popped the dice first, and they started playing the game, talking a little bit, and regretfully - against his own mind, Dean started to laugh and enjoy being around the guys, playing guilt free child's games and sitting here with Sammy.

Naturally, the clock was turning and as it was getting late more and more people started showing up, so their board game was interrupted constantly. As one of them had to run to get the door and drop some candy into pillow cases.

Constantly, whenever they'd vote Dean off the game to go get the door, he'd hear the kids talking about his lack of costume, his green jacket and plaid barely counting as anything he couldn't think of.

"Here," Castiel said, when Dean had gotten back from getting the door, a little more flustered than usually as some stupid little kid had complained about his lack of spirit. Cas grabbed a sharpie, taking Dean's hand and pulling up his sleeve.

"H-hey, what are you doing?" Dean stammered, trying to pull his arm away. Castiel proved stronger than he looked.

"Giving you a costume, I don't want to sit here all night if you've got regret written all over your face, now would you - stop fighting me!" Castiel growled, and used the sharpie, with precise, easy lines drew some form of symbol - like a seven with an extra, detached branch, then let his arm dropped.

"What is that?" Dean asked, studying his handiwork.

"It's called the mark of Cain," Castiel explained. "Biblically, it means you're cursed, immortality, need to kill, etc, etc," he explained quickly. "But now you can say you're dressed up as a demon," he said.

Dean smiled. He probably would do much for the kids, but he liked the idea to say he was dressed as a Demon, to have justification - biblically backed up justification - and some form of a costume.

So they sat down and went back to their game.

They played a few more turns, moving their pieces along, sending each other back, and it took a while, but eventually Sam was able to claim the title of winner, and Cas came in second, so both Chuck and Dean decided it wasn't worth playing for third place. Now it was 10:30, and there party was 'just getting started' but between stealing from the candy bowl set aside for kids and eating the chips and drinking pop Dean found the novelty of acting like a little kid and having a playdate was wearing off.

He pulled out his phone. It was one of the old ones, that slid to reveal a keyboard. His father got and paid for it - god knows how -quite a few years ago. He'd done so to keep in touch with Dean, which, let's be fair, never happened, and usually only contacted him when he needed something. This did, though, give Dean one thing that a normal teenager would have.

So he texted Charlie, quick, telling her to get her butt over to the house - with the address attached - and for the love of god bring alcohol.

"So, Dean, where'd you move from?" Chuck asked, and Dean realized he'd zoned out of the conversation. The Sorry! game was still spread out on the table, Sam sitting on one side on the floor, stationing himself beside the bowl of candy, and picking out anything containing chocolate to have. Chuck was beside him, cross legged, a red cup of not alcohol held in both hands. Castiel sat beside Dean, a seat and a half between them as Dean leaned forward to snatch a mini KitKat from Sam's pile, making his brother scowl and pull the chocolate closer to himself. Dean didn't mind though - it wasn't often that they got to have any amount of candy, let alone the much more expensive chocolate. Dean hoped Sam had the foresight to stash some so they could take some home.

"Where didn't we move from," Dean laughed, trying hard to quell the crushing sense of dread that the question pulled from the pit of his stomach. He liked it here. He liked them - he didn't want to think that they might have to leave. "Recently we moved from Michigan, before then we were in Arkansas, and Oregon, we sort of jump around, there's no real… pattern or anything," he admitted.

"How long did you live in those places?" Castiel asked.

"A few months. Never more than half a year at most," Dean said, a little awkward to admit it outloud. They looked at each other, and even Sam stopped hoarding, looking up at Dean with concern in his eyes, the fear of being judged, but more importantly the fear of having to leave a town where they made good friends in a few weeks.

"You'll be moving from here then, too?" Castiel asked softly.

"Maybe," Dean admitted. "But every time he move dad says the same thing: This time we're staying. This time we're not leaving, it's permanent, this is where we live," Dean said, echoing his father's repetitive words. "Maybe this time will be the time he's right."

And it wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't the truth either. Patterns don't just snap.

The room was tense now, uncomfortably strained with unsaid words and ideas, questions better left unasked, so they remained heavy and foreboding.

Alcohol, as Dean had suspected, fixed the problem.

Charlie knocked on the door around eleven at night, with two cases of beer and an amazing costume. She was dressed in a green and white gone, loose and flowing around her ankles, the hem made from twisted golden rope tied to keep it fit. She was adorned with jewelry and a golden circlet on her head, her red hair straightened and brushed long behind her ears, which were covered with makeup to look pointy and elf-like. She looked, for all extensive purposes, like a princess.

"What-up Geeks," she greeted, and welcomed herself in, past a confused Chuck.

Once he'd managed to convince Castiel that it was okay, and then told Sam that he could have one - and _only one -_ and everyone had a little bit of giggle juice in their system, save for Chuck who aggressively declined and was not impressed with Dean's take on his Halloween party, they all started for have a better time.

Castiel turned out to be equally good at handling his liquor, and completely terrible. It was hilarious, watching him drink, as Dean coaxed him to try and loosen up, he seemed completely sober, walking straight, talking normally, but not at all acting like himself. And halfway through his third he started to lose the ability for proper speech.

Sam, buzzing off of one beer and a ton of candy was the first to start it, hearing some old rock song on the radio and jumping up, and aggressively playing along on the air guitar, which to the three other alcohol affected members in the room was the most amazing idea ever.

Soon everyone was up, jumping and laughing and dancing badly and crazily to the music, singing along and shouting and spinning around.

As Dean lost himself to the sound and movement of everyone around him, it felt like there was much more than four people in the room.

He felt someone bump into him, and turn around, his mind a little hazy, finding Cas laughing and barely able to keep up with the song as he clearly hadn't heard it before. He stopped when he found himself beside Dean, smiling up at him a crinkly-eyed grin and leaning on hand on Dean's shoulder to take some of his weight.

"You're too pretty," Castiel declared, the words almost lost among the radio that had been turned up to blast the music - the songs had long since changed but the pattern of rock music had kept, so they'd kept dancing. "I mean - those eyes! How green _are_ your eyes, Dean? Like a four? Five?"

"What? Out of what? What scale is this?" Dean said back, laughing at the slightly shorter boy's apparent need to discuss this.

"This is serious, Dean, answer the question," Castiel insisted, only making Dean laugh again.

"I don't know. Five," he decided, then, with the alcohol fresh in his system and the heavy riff of a song running through his brain, added, "like you should be talking, with your ocean blue eyes."

Some part of Dean less tipsy brain told him to shut his mouth. Stop talking now. Stop talking immediately and return to your seat and put the alcohol away. Giving away the fact that he'd noticed Castiel's eyes at all was too far.

Turns out he didn't seem to care, laughing and turning to the music, brushing too close against Dean for comfort, and suddenly the alcohol wasn't working quite so well on his brain.

"I don't think I've ever been to a party with music this loud," Castiel said again, over the music, moving away a bit, letting Dean breath a sigh of relief and grab the bottle he'd been working on and throwing the remaining contents back, feeling the comforting and familiar sting as it hit the back of his through. "I don't think I've ever listened to music this loud _period!"_ he corrected after a moment.

But before Dean could reply, the elf-princess Charlie - also drinking way too much - jumped up onto the couch, turning to catch everyone's attention.

"Hey! Hey! Dudes!" she shouted, and miraculously caught everyone's attention.

"What's up?" Chuck said. He was having a good time, despite what he might say, dancing alone a little less crazily, and a little less almost completely drunk. But he wanted to have fun, he wanted to be around his friends - and he was doing that. Who cares if he's the only one who remembered in the morning?

"This basement's nice and all, but I know this _really_ cool spot right up past Stoney Creek," she said. "If Chuck'll drive…"

And all eyes turned on Chuck.

"Fine, sure, let's go," Chuck agreed, feeling like he _might_ regret this later but herding everyone outside anyways.

It was midnight now, probably, or something like it, and most people were gone. A few teenagers could be heard shouting somewhere down the street, but apart from that it was silent and quiet and dark, but the five teenagers burst through into the night and shattered that silence.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked again.

"A lookout point with a great view - it's amazing," Charlie replied, and Dean nodded.

"But why?" he said, still a little less drunk than her, he believed. "It's getting late and all, I thought we'd be crashing soon for sure," he admitted.

Wait, what the Hell? Dean Winchester being the voice of reason at a party? No way, bucko. He was not crashing this party, he was… not… Sam was laughing, tipsy a bit as he was unused to alcohol and so much high energy, and they were all having fun…

"Carpe Diem, my friend," Charlie replied, throwing her hands in the air. "We're only young once, after all."

"And we may only have one Halloween with you," Chuck added quietly.

"Carpe Noctem, actually," Castiel corrected from beside Dean as Chuck unlocked the black crew cab truck. Probably his fathers, but Dean couldn't be sure. "The day's are taken up by school, all our fun takes place at night."

And Dean couldn't argue with that logic, so instead they argued over the seating position.

Four and a half seats, if you count the middle bit in the back seat. Chuck got automatic rights to the driver's seat, and before anyone could protests Charlie swung herself into shotgun and locked the door on anyone else.

So Sam got into the back, and Dean climbed in after him, and Castiel, after standing outside with a lot of thought process and decision making in a not so ready for decision brain, climbed in too, settling so that he was awkwardly leaning against Sam while managing to be half-sitting on Dean.

Sure, this would be fine.

The started, Charlie giving hazy directions, and Chuck wishing every moment that he'd not allowed Charlie to enter the house with alcohol.

The laughed and told bad jokes and shoved each other around, Sam warming up to the older kids very quickly.

It occurred to Dean that this was Sam's first impression of his new friends. This.

But he couldn't stay focused on that bit of embarrassing trivia when he felt Cas start to try and shift around, blocked by the ridge in the middle and the two very tall boys beside him, huffing as nothing seemed to work.

"Cas! You're crushing me!" Sam complained, a little playfully as he continued to shift around, giving his own shove against the older boy to give himself room.

"I'm sorry, Sam, really," Castiel said, leaning back against Dean to save the poor kid. "It really isn't a seat built for three."

Despite the moderate amount of pain the arrangement put them in, Dean, Sam and Cas - plus Charlie and Chuck who had an excellent spectator's spot - found this situation to be extremely amusing, and they were laughing and playfully fighting their way through the pain.

"Just sit on them!" Chuck declared at some point, making Castiel twitch his head a little bit and look at Sam teasingly.

"Would you like that?" Castiel said, shifting suddenly closer to Sam and making the younger boy squeak, laughing and shoving back at Cas.

"No! Get off me!" he said, shaking his head.

"Fine, if you say so," Castiel agreed, before giving one last shuffle and adjustment and landed himself square on Dean's lap, who leapt in surprise, finding his face astonishingly close to the boy's shoulder.

This made this better for two of the three, and Cas's legs were still pressed against Sam's, but Dean wasn't in any immediate pain, so he let it slide.

They'd passed a fair bit of time this way, fighting, and Dean found they'd left the town behind, the dark road rolling beneath them, the tiny bumps making Cas complain as his head hit the ceiling.

It struck Dean at a weird time, that this moment was absolutely perfect in his idea of the world.

He was surrounded by people he could trust, and more that trust they had wanted him there, they had invited him. He had friends, and he didn't feel lonely.

His brother was by his side, laughing and loving what was going on, nothing wrong, no ripped backpacks or petty bullying, no late night shifts or making dinner by himself.

The road was beneath them, rolling on, indefinitely, the humm of an engine, a destination in mind.

With nothing to do with his hands, and feeling he was putting way too much energy into keeping them by his sides he let them rest, lifting his left hand up carefully - the one blocked from Sam and Charlie's view - and resting it gently against the small of Cas's back, pressing through the trench coat and suit, his hand rolling with the movement of the car.

When nothing dramatic happened he grew braver, and as Cas was rocked, hitting his head against the roof with the movement of the truck, he moved his other hand to the boy's knee, steadying him, and feeling, just for a moment, that somehow his perfect world had gotten just a little bit more perfect.

The car was suddenly jerked to a halt as Charlie shouted "here!", and Dean found himself, amazingly, even closer to Castiel as they were thrown forward, and he found that something in his brain shouted that it wasn't close enough, that what would happen if he wrapped his arms around the boy's waist, what would happen if he pulled him closer.

But the door was shoved open and everyone clambered out, and Dean found himself cold without the presence of another.

Dean followed them all out just as eagerly, trying to pretend like he wasn't questioning himself and his personality and everything he wanted in his world and followed Charlie as she rushed into the treeline on the side of the highway.

They were laughing again as brambles snagged at his jeans, fighting down the slight hill until Charlie shouted a warning and they staggered to stop, the treeline thinning out, and the cliff edge suddenly dropping away.

Dean reached a hand out in front of Sammy, keep him back, but one by one they all lined up, side by side. Out here, the light pollution was dimmer, and the stars could shine brighter. The milky way just barely visible, a pale streak in the violet night.

The city below could rival the stars though, glimmering and dancing with yellows and whites from windows. A neon sign of a gas station was closest, blinking red and blue. The city stretched, the farm houses in the front bleeding into towers and apartments and a bustling downtown. They could have been anywhere, Dean reasoned, on Halloween. They could have been drunk in a club, dancing with some mysterious women in cat costume. They could have gone to the city's haunted evening event, or any numerous spooky evening. He and Sammy could have stayed home. Charlie could have not brought alcohol, they could have stayed at Chuck's and played Sorry! and Monopoly till they passed out.

Dean was glad they were here.

He wrapped one arm around Sam, pulling him closer, the young boy closing his eyes, but Dean realized that he was reaching past his shoulder how. That yes, he was younger, but he wasn't… He wasn't really younger, was he? He'd had a beer tonight, and handled it moderately well. He'd dealt with cursing and spat back his own. He'd talked, he wasn't shy, he'd been… one of them.

He was in grade eight. He was thirteen.

The number was small, sure, but he was smarter than Dean was.

His little Sammy was growing up, fast. He'd be able to get a job soon, too. He'd be able to do a lot of what Dean could do…

Sentimentality and alcohol didn't mix, so Dean playfully shoved Sam away and forced his emotions into a corner and sat down on the edge, just far enough back it wouldn't be dangerous.

"Hey! Listen!" Charlie said, and everyone fell silent. Apart from the occasional roar from the highway, and the echoing squeaks of bats, the croaking of frogs and cricket chirps could be heard.

"Frogs!" Sam echoed, and both him and the elf-princess dove into the nearby bushes, hunting out the creaking critters.

Chuck came and sat down beside Dean, and Castiel took the other side, leaning back on his hands.

"It's a good view," Dean commented.

"You guys are so drunk," was Chuck's reply.

They all laughed, and when they fell silent again Chuck forced himself to his feet, finding some small rocks and winding his arm back, throwing it out as far as he could over the cliff, listening as it fell then clattered against the dirt and dust at the bottom.

He moved away, and Dean and Castiel were left in a comfortable silence - if you left out Sam and Charlie squealing in the background.

His phone buzzed.

Who else had his number?

 _John Winchester_ flashed across the screen, right below the yellow and white icon of an envelope. Dreading the message, Dean opened it, reading with quick eyes.

'I'm in Blue Lake. Car's got problems. Bring Oil, anti-freeze, a wrench and jumper cables.'

God damn it.

"What's wrong?" Cas asked from beside him, as if sensing Dean's sudden discomfort.

"Where's Blue Lake?" Dean asked, and cas frowned.

"Blue Lake itself is about two and a half hours away. It's a Lake. Blue Lake City is a little closer, and is, well, just a city. It's North of here, why?" Castiel explained, his voice as monotone as ever, and it had been a while since they'd consumed any knew alcohol. Dean began to think it might be wearing out of their system. What was it. One am? One thirty?

"My dad wants me to go out and help him. Don't know how he expects me to get there, on such short notice."

The phone buzzed.

'Immediately.' Came the next message.

Castiel turned away, and Dean sighed. Could he pretend he hadn't read it? Like he'd been asleep. What if he'd actually been asleep? No, he knew how that would end and he didn't like it.

"Hey, Chuck, can you drive me to a bus stop?" Dean called, catching the attention of not only Chuck, but Sam and Charlie too.

"Where are you going?" Sam said, concern touching his voice. He was all too familiar with Dean coming home, angry and twitching, or waking up because Dean was throwing things around the room trying to get enough money together for a bus ticket. Yes, Sam was not unfamiliar with the processes of John Winchester.

"Dad's in Blue Lake. He needs my help," Dean said.

"Why are you even going to go?" Castiel said. "From what I've heard he's not worth it. If he's not going to support you, why should you support him?" he went on.

"He's my father, Cas," Dean replied, and to him, that was all there was to it.

"I'll drive you," Chuck said, almost without hesitation. Dean cocked his head.

"What?"

"We can drop everyone off somewhere, and then I'll drive you," Chuck repeated. "I don't mind. I mean, it's late, but I'd rather know you got there then be worried you get hit by a car in your drunken state," he added.

Dean felt his stomach twist. He'd never been offered help - not with begging. Nobody had ever cared, really, about the state of his or Sam's lives, about their family, or their troubles.

But here they are, ready, willing to go.

"T-thank you," Dean replied. "You don't have to…"

"It'll be faster," Chuck reasoned. "Now we better get going. It's a fair bit of a drive."

They all piled back into the car, this time Castiel wasted no time in taking his seat on Dean, even, he felt, used the arm pressed between them to wrap around his neck, so they were flush against each other.

Dean didn't mind so much this time, wrapping his arm around Castiel's waist so they were in an almost half-hug, and despite the anger in his situation, he found himself laughing one more time.

He'd never laughed this much in one night, ever.

They dropped Charlie off first, as a nice, pale green, one-story, but quite long, house out in the countryside, before moving further into town, and letting Castiel give them directions to his house. He'd refused Chuck's proposal to take Charlie's seat when she'd gotten out.

Castiel lived in a freaking mansion. It was _huge._ As in, had it's own gate and roundabout to park in huge, with white stone walls and rolling grass lawns. Dean couldn't even imagine living there.

"Dude, what do your parents _do_?" he gasped.

"My dad runs… most things," Castiel said vaguely, waving his hand before opening the door and jumping out.

"Hey Dean, can you come with me for a second?" Castiel said, patiently waiting by the open door. Dean, a little confused, nodded then jumped out of the truck, finding the wind a little more biting than it had been before. Castiel led him over to the gate, where a small keypad was located.

"Two-two-seven-four," Castiel said, punching in the numbers. The gate buzzed, and swung open just a little bit.

"And?" Dean said.

"If John ever is… too much. Or perhaps the heatings out at your place. Or don't know, European gang members are chasing you. You're welcome here, always, okay?" he said, quietly and earnestly. "You and Sam."

Dean smiled, nodding vaguely before quickly, before his self-conscious brain warning him against it, opened his arms and wrapped them around Cas, feeling the smaller boy do the same, burying his head into Dean's shoulder.

When they let go, Cas grinned at him, then leaned up, just a tiny bit, pressing a kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth, high enough onto his cheek to be considered friendly, but long enough that Dean wasn't fooled.

"I'm a little bit drunk," Cas whispered.

"I'll be surprised if you remember anything," Dean said back, but his whole body was numb, his mind was numb, his face was tingling and he could still feel the ghost of Cas' lips on his face. He wanted to pursue this right now, to grab him and kiss him hard, take control of the situation. Screw John Winchester, he wanted this. Right now.

But the night was cut short by two text messages. Two text messages that controlled Dean's life, and that was that. So he rested a hand on Castiel's shoulder and the two turned away from each other, each knowing that the moment was gone and in the morning Dean would have have a day and a half of his father to cleanse his mind, and Castiel would be unlikely to remember his thoughts or feelings from this exact moment, only the actions, so it would be weird, it would be awkward, and it would be tense when they next met. Neither would admit it was anything more than alcohol and high energy.

And he jumped back into the car, and they drove over to Sam and Dean's house, barely a brink in comparison to Castiel's, and he Sam got out and into the house and Chuck and Dean drove off, back to the highway, heading out for a long, tired drive to a city neither really wanted to be in.

"I'm heading out to Miami," John Winchester says.

"What? Miami? Why?" his son shouts. "Where have you been, what are you doing?"

"Business, Dean. I think if I can convince a man out there, uh, Mr. Roman, or something, that my car business is worth it, I could make a lot of money!"

"Where would that money go then, huh? Sam's college? Our house? Or perhaps into booze and girls, right dad?" Dean says, his voice rising. They'd gotten the impala running, everything was fine. Dean thought he'd be taking his father back with them. That they'd get a few weeks with him before he disappeared again. He didn't know why he believed that having him at home was better than the alternative.

"You're one to talk," he father growls. "I can smell the beer on your breath,"

"I was having fun, dad, it's Halloween! Or had you forgotten!" Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"Whatever. I'll be back… in the future. Might be a month, might be longer… I don't know," he admitted.

"Fine, fine, whatever," Dean muttered.

"That's for the supplies," John said, lifting up the bottle of oil. "I'm almost out of cash. Speaking of which, can I borrow some off you?"

"I don't have anything dad," Dean said, taking out his wallet anyways and opening it up. He did have a fair bit. A Good few hundred dollars he'd been saving since he'd gotten his job. It wasn't even the beginning of a college fund or anything close to that. Not even close to being able to upgrade their house in anyway. But maybe enough to give Sam a decent Christmas.

He kept much of it in cash, simply because the bank took more money than they held. He had some in there. Untouchable money, he called it to Sam. Stuff he'd been putting in there since he was fourteen. That, he intended, would be something of a college fund for Sam, or a down payment, or just money he could surprise Sam with when he wanted to move out.

"Thanks," John said, taking whatever he would grab of the cash from Dean's wallet.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, anger surging through him. "No! That's mine! Get your own job!" he snarled, but his father had turned away, shoving his eldest son back as he pocketed the money.

"I'll pay you back when this deal works out," he called.

"That's what you've said the last four times!" Dean screeched, his voice breaking and his eyes beginning to water. "I swear to God, dad, I… I need to be able to eat! And feed Sammy! And clothes, and… and…"

But John had gotten into the Impala, the engine revving, and the lights casting pale streaks on the road in the pre-dawn glow.

Dean, furious and ready to hit something spun around and stalked away, back to Chuck, parked at the curb, unsure what he could do. Could he even fight back against his dad? What was wrong with him? Why didn't he?

He scratched at his arm, finding the sharpie mark Castiel had drawn still there. A surge of different emotions raced through him, one of them being that he wished he really was a demon, so that the stupid feelings of… pathetic loyalty weren't stopping him from socking his dad in the jaw.

But the most important emotion was anger, and a new wave of it at that. Because he'd forgotten, actually, about everything with Cas barely a few hours ago. But he hated his dad, in that moment, he hated him because he ruined the memory of Castiel kissing him.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six:

Dean got back to his bed at eight in the morning. Chuck dropped him off then drove away, tired and about to pass out. Dean felt the same, but managed to unlock the door, stumble inside, and collapse into his bed, with Sam still asleep just across from him.

He woke up around five, and Sam was gone. His head was pounding, from alcohol (though he hadn't had _that_ much) or stress, or sleep deprivation or maybe he was just ill, he didn't know. He sat up, running a hand through his hair and finding he'd fallen asleep in his clothes from the night before. He quickly had a shower, scrubbing what felt like inches of grime and dirt off of him, then got changed, heading out into their living room feeling marginally better for simply being awake.

What struck him first upon entering the living room was the complete state of disaster it was in. He wanted to say _how_ or _when_ but he knew the answer. It was laziness and acceptance, and since they got there. Yes, their house had always been a mess of peeling paint and things laying around, but Dean had never really seen it before. It was a sleep spot, not a home, who cares how it looked.

But something deep inside his own subconscious was suddenly not only embarrassed by the mess, but infuriated that he'd let it get that far. After seeing Chuck's house - which couldn't have been that much nicer physically - and how well he kept it, versus the _mansion_ Castiel lived, he didn't want to put this foot forward. This… mess of a place.

Hungry and still quite a bit tired, he lack the willpower to move over to the kitchen and find something to eat, so he instead bent down and picked up a towel that must have come from the bathroom, then followed the trail of things on the ground until it was mostly clear, and he had an armful of junk he didn't know what to do with.

So he dropped it on the couch, pursing his lips and staring at it, as if that was going to do anything.

Well, those four things are pieces of clothing, his brain whispered to him, so he grabbed them out and took them to the bedroom, cramming them into their old wooden dresser.

He returned to the pile, and put a towel back to where it should be, hanging in front of the oven. From there he put the bath towel away, a plastic bag under the sink, dishes into the sink, and a book on beavers onto the kitchen table. He should probably return that, he didn't want to have a late fee.

But the pile was gone, and everything was a little bit better.

Not good, though. Not yet.

Still fueled by anger that their father had taken their money and fled, and disgusted by the fact that this was _his_ fault, he kept going, straightening out the couched from it's crooked position, then taking the towel he'd found before and wetting it, running it over the little wooden table that accompanied their couch, talking pop cans and beer bottles and take out containers off of it, and throwing them out.

With his now dirty cleaning cloth, he continued on, running it over every surface that might be dirty, almost with an obsessive quality to his work, until he turned and spotted the kitchen.

So Dean got to work, cleaning, cleaning and more cleaning. He scrubbed the dishes, wiped off the counters, worked at grime on the floor, put everything away neat and tidy. There were so many empty foam containers and dirty cutlery and dishes just laying around, he wondered how he'd never seen them before now.

The door opened, and Dean turned his head to see Sam coming in, smiling as he saw Dean.

"You're awake," Sam commented, dropping a bunch of books on the table, making Dean's eye twitch, but he noticed Sam himself was much more careful for keeping them stacked and neat.

"Where've you been?" Dean asked.

"Kevin's," he said quickly. "He invited me and another kid Garth over to play some games. You were still asleep and it was like one in the afternoon so I just went. Wasn't that long of a walk," he said.

Dean nodded, finding the answer innocent enough, and before he could add anything else his brother said:

"Are you cleaning?"

"Uh, yeah?" Dean snapped. "Haven't you ever heard of it?" this made Sam laugh, but probably not for the reason Dean could hope.

"Yeah, but not by you," Sam said, raising an eye. "What's gotten into you? One night of drinking and partying and a trip to Blue Lake and you're suddenly responsible?"

"Hey, I've always been responsible," Dean began.

"You lit Cindy Carson's textbook on fire in eighth grade," Sam countered.

"Regardless," Dean pressed, "I've decided that we could take better care of this place."

"This is just a sleep spot, Dean, nothing else," Sam said, and if felt like a physical blow to Dean's chest. Sam's voice was void of emotion, empty for all except for the fact and that killed him. Was Dean really the only one who thought they might be happy here? Was he the only one developing a sense of a home, of friendship?

He supposed Sam wasn't the one who suddenly actually did his homework, that was normal for him. Sam wasn't the one who had a friend offer to drive him for a collective total of five hours in the middle of the night. Sam wasn't the one with friends for the first time.

He had Kevin, and Garth, but he _always_ had friends. He was used to the heartbreak. He knew that just because it was starting to feel like a home didn't mean it would stay that way.

"Whatever. Do we have a vacuum?" Dean asked, keeping his voice neutral and turning back to wipe the counter again.

"No," Sam said simply. "You can rent one, I think. By the library," he added.

"Alright then, kiddo, I'll be back," Dean said, and trying to quell the rising sense of dread in his stomach he and Sam split paths, and he headed out into the evening sun, remembering to grab the need-to-be-returned book.

The walk was pleasant and quiet, the after Halloween atmosphere filled with sleep and candy and staying inside. So he made good time, crossing the street and seeing the mechanics shop Sam must have been talking about.

The library was also there, and something about it was comforting. He quickly headed inside, dropping Sam's book there and was about to turn around, when he paused, looking over to the computer section. He wandered over, reasoning to himself that he really didn't have a time limit.

He took a seat, a little disappointed Charlie wasn't there, and logged on, opening up drive and then the file he'd gotten a 76% percent on. He read it over once, then twice, and then a third time, each time seeing more and more flaws. Gaps in information, awkward transitions, bad dialogue.

He could write something better.

He'd originally titled his story _The Supernatural,_ so he named this document _More Supernatural,_ and got to work.

 _After slaying the demon and saving Jodie and Celeste from certain danger, Sam and Dean Winchester set out with a new perspective on their world. A dangerous one. It would only be a matter of time before what they did caught up to them._

 _They knew though, that they were the only ones who were able to do what they did. It wasn't like it was just a job you applied for. There was nothing in this world that could make them want to fight the paranormal._

 _But they could, so they did. They were saving people._

 _They got a message on a Thursday evening. From a young kid, a child prodigy hoping to get into a good school, have a nice life. How most did. He was saying that he thought there was a witch in his town, and how a friend of his - Celeste - had told him they might be able to help._

 _They went off, finding their way to his town easily and meeting up with him. His name was Kevin, and he -_

Should Dean change his name? He stared at the page, willing an easy answer. What would he change it to? Calvin? No, no, Kevin was simple and common enough.

 _-and he led them to the house they thought the witch was at._

Dean kept writing, almost oblivious to time passing and things changing. Taking his Halloween experience for reference, he wrote it during Halloween, the witch using candy and traditional party tricks to kill and maim. They were struggling to figure it out, and he found himself writing his characters into a hole, writing them down, down, beating them up. The witch was winning, bad, and they were struggling to find a way to kill her.

But the stakes weren't that high. Everytime they lost they'd regroup and try something else. He needed to raise the stakes.

So he wrote them failing, about to die, bloodied and bruised and believing they'd failed, then he had someone save them.

He quickled opened another tab to do a bit of research.

 _Dean fell to the ground, the blade scattering from his hand, slipping across the ground. He gasped as he looked up, spinning on the floor to face the witch as she held Sam above the ground through magic._

 _She drew her own blade, raising it above her head, as if to strike, but a blinding light struck through the room, and the witch dropped her sword, and then there were four people, not three, within the walls._

 _The man stood, in a black suit and tan trench coat, his face stoney as he stared at the witch, who screeched upon seeing his presence and quickly fled. They'd been saved. They never had help. They'd been on their own, and yet, today, they'd been saved._

 _The light caught the stranger just right, and for a moment Dean swore he had wings, stretching from his back, black as his hair, and the angel turned his eyes to Dean, bright and blue and amazing._

" _I am an angel of the lord," he declared, in a deep, rasping voice, and Dean struggled back, sitting against the wall. "My name is Cassiel,"_

He kept writing, finding this new development very interesting and intriguing, and loving where it was going. He felt awkward, at first, writing from Castiel's point of view, trying to get his character right, but it also felt right. He fit right in with the Winchesters.

It was a little challenging, not writing everything focused on Cas, especially once that had kickstarted his brain and a flood of emotions and memories had rushed back. So he kept going, writing, moving on, until they finally managed to defeat the witch, slaying her, and he had to write Cassiel off.

A guest appearance from the angel, Dean supposed, that was the best way he'd get around everyone asking him. He didn't want it to look like he was obsessed with him or anything. But after writing Celeste in, and Kevin, he didn't think it was too obvious or anything.

He did finish the story, clocking this one at ten and a half pages.

Also, it was eight thirty at night.

Where the hell did the time go? At least that explained how Chuck spent so much time writing. He didn't even realize the time had passed.

Regardless, he quickly wrote up an email and shared the document with Charlie, to see what she thought. She's the one that had asked for it, anyway. Dean had to get going though.

He had enjoyed writing, he found. He'd enjoyed creating another tale of him and his brother, and he thought it was good, this one. Not much better than the last, maybe, but good. He packed up his things and headed out the door.

The mechanics shop was closed, now, so that was out of the picture, and Sam would be wondering where he went to, that was for sure. So he quickly headed back down the street, wondering where he had gotten to.

When he got home, Sam was spreading peanut butter on bread, and looked surprised to see him.

"I thought you'd skipped town," Sam laughed and Dean shook his head.

"I got distracted," he admitted.

"By what?" Sam said, and Dean was going to give a quip, a clever comeback, but his brother added a word that changed his thoughts and made him struggle for anything. "Cas?"

"I-I'm sorry?"

"Did you run into Cas? He was distracted you a lot last night," Sam went on, smiling a bit in the most infuriating way. Dean felt his blood running hot, his face warming up and he struggled to find something to say. He could just say no, he was at the library. He could say anything else, and he would be a lie. He hadn't seen Cas.

But had he been that obvious last night? When he didn't reply, Sam seemed to take that as a prompt to continue.

"It's alright. I think it's sweet that you actually like someone. I mean, I didn't think you were gay, but, I suppose-"

"I'm not gay," Dean said quickly. "Like, a strong bisexual, maybe," he added.

Sam laughed, and Dean laughed and he shoved him gently when it looked like he might continue talking, because however comfortable he was around his brother, he was not comfortable talking about this - especially after last night. Especially after everything. Because he didn't know where Cas was at. Sure it had seemed like a lot of things, but Sam had been right.

This was just a sleep spot.

Carpe noctem, Cas had said. They had to seize the nights while they had them.

But that conflicted. Did he seize what he could? Take whatever time he had with Cas and hold it as close as possible? Did he do whatever he could now?

Or did he distance himself, and make the sting more bearable when he left?


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven:

Almost another week had passed before Dean was sitting on his couch, an old magazine in his hands, something he'd read half a dozen times, when his phone buzzed. He grabbed it, confused to find a number he didn't recognize.

'I had to get your number off of Charlie,' the message read, and dean tilted his head, looking it over and trying to think who it could be.

'And you are?' was the reply he eventually sent.

'Castiel,'

Oh. Had he really never given Cas his number? That seemed weird, but then again he rarely used his phone at all, let alone for friends. Charlie having his number was a product of Charlie asking for it.

'Hey buddy,' Dean sent back, then sat there staring at the message until he hated everything about himself.

'You want to come over for dinner?' was Cas's reply, and that had Dean even more confused.

'What? Why?' Dean asked, glancing to where Sammy was sitting at the table, reading one book or another.

'We still have an argument to settle,' was the first message, before being immediately followed by: 'my older brother's are coming home and bringing… friends… and I don't feel like fighting them alone.'

Older brothers?

From what Dean had been told, Cas's family was huge. And it wasn't just Cas's family, it was aunts and uncles and cousins and everything in between, under one roof.

He'd only ever met Gabriel, and an unnamed blond brother when he picked up Cas from school. He really wasn't looking forward to settling their 'argument,' but he liked the fact that Castiel remembered that, despite it only being a few weeks ago.

Was that only a few weeks ago? It felt like ages ago.

'When?' Dean sent.

'I can swing by for five thirty and grab you. Would Sam be joining us?'

'I'm not leaving him here,' Dean sent back.

'Gabe will be driving. L license rules.'

Dean nodded, putting his phone down and folding his hands under his chin, looking at it longer than necessary - if any time is necessary. Why wouldn't Cas have invited Chuck? Or Meg? Or anyone else? He hadn't been alone with Castiel since Halloween, and even before then rarely ever. And I suppose he wouldn't be alone now, but there was something different about having Chuck around.

"Hey!" Dean called, catching Sam's attention. "We've got dinner plans,"

"What?" Sam scoffed, raising an eye. Since when did they have 'dinner plans'.

"Cas invited us over for some family gathering, I'm thinking it's gonna be rich people food and enough shouting that we can pocket something," Dean replied back, turning in the seat to look at his younger brother.

~break for the mobile friends~

"Sam, you ready?" Dean called, despite the fact that he knew Sam had been ready for the past thirty minutes. It was Dean this time who'd second guessed everything. Was he forgetting something? Did he have to bring something at all? What if he didn't know how to eat rich people food?

"Yeah, come on, Gabriel and Cas are waiting," Sam prompt, and the two boys found their way out of the door, the silver car idling quietly on the side of the road.

There was a chill in the air, and Dean reminded himself that he had still intended to get a coat for Sam.

"Hey there," Gabriel declared at Sam, then Dean, packed themselves into the back seat.

"Thanks for inviting us," Dean replied as Gabriel pulled away, turning around - probably illegally - and took off down the quiet residential street.

"No problemo," Gabriel said, "we figured it wasn't fair for everyone and their dog to have someone coming over with them tonight and not let our darling little Cassie invite someone," he went on, glancing through the rearview mirror at Dean. "And it'll be good for Gadreel to have someone around who's his age," he added after a moment.

"So how many people are going to be there?" Dean said, glancing to the seat in front of him, where Cas was, and leaning forward to hear the quieter answer.

"Well, me, my four brothers, if Luci shows up, Gadreel and his big sister, their father, my aunt, her daughter, you two, someone named Ezekiel and his girlfriend Sophia, cousin Bart, hopefully not uncle Malachi but we can't really keep him away anymore, especially if Bart's there," Castiel went on, pausing to think, when Gabriel added:

"Cousin Balthazar's coming with Bart, I think, and Hannah agreed to come but I'm uncertain. I think Luci is bringing a friend, but that seems unusual," he said, tapping the steering wheel with two fingers.

"Holy hell," Dean stammered, and he saw Sam staring at him with wide eyes, suddenly quite a bit overwhelmed.

"Told you," Cas muttered, quietly, as he leaned his head back against the seat.

The drive wasn't too long out to the countryside, where the white mansion that was Castiel's home stood. Cas jumped out to open the gate for Gabriel to drive through, at the house loomed higher overhead.

When Gabriel parked the car, they got out, and Dean moved to Castiel's side, taking Sam by the shoulder and decided that neither boy was leaving his sight.

"Cassie!" there was a squeal, and everyone turned to see the massive front doors thrown open, and a girl, probably a year older or so then Dean, with curly brown hair and pale skin ran out, squealing and throwing her arms around her target, both Sam and Dean stepping back suddenly. Castiel smiled and held her at arm's length.

"I haven't seen you in forever! How's everything going?" she went on. "Everyone's inside, they're all dying to see you - and Gabe, too!" she added, turning to the older brother. "Where have you guys been?"

"Avoiding the reunion, mostly," Gabriel admitted casually, before taking something from his pocket - a yellow wrapped piece of candy - and occupying himself with it to avoid conversation with her.

"Still have a sweet tooth, it seems," Hannah laughed.

"Dean, Sam, this is my cousin, Hannah," Castiel said, "Hannah, my friend Dean and his brother, Sam."

"Oh, it's so good to meet you," Hannah declared, but her enthusiasm had dropped quite a bit. No wonder Cas had so few friends. His family was more overbearing and huge than anything else. "You already seem better then that girl… uh, what was her name? Megan?"

"Meg."

"Right, Meg, that you had over that one time," Hannah said, waving her hand. "Now come on, boys, you've got a lot of ground to cover today."

Hannah took Castiel's hand, and excitedly led him up the stairs to his own house, as if he'd never been there. Dean and Sam followed, and as they left they noticed Gabriel turning casually in his place, then slipping around the side of the house.

They passed through the entrance, and the world opened up before them. The room was giant, with wide wood floors, thin carpet, gold and red and silver everywhere, tapestries like they were taken straight from a cathedral hanging from the walls. Bright green plants hid corners, and most importantly, the sheer volume of people.

The ceiling extending high above their heads, but the stairs at the back of the room leading up, and the multiple doors on either side of the room gave the impression of grandeur, with everyone in it, Dean still found it claustrophobic.

Hannah had disappeared into the crowd, and Dean could just follow the tail of Castiel's trench coat.

"And who are you?" someone asked, and Dean and Sam stopped running, officially losing Cas to the sea of people. I guess they were on their own.

"My name's Dean - uh, Dean Winchester, this is my brother Sam," Dean said, then quickly added, "we're friends of Cas's."

"Little Castiel?" she said, tilting her head and looking around. "I haven't seen him yet. Michael said he and Gabriel skipped out early this morning."

"Yeah, I can see that," Dean agreed, nodding a bit.

"Oh, silly me," she said, "I didn't introduce myself. My name is Naomi," she said, tilting her head, brown hair pinned perfectly up not moving a strand. She looked professional and well put together, not at all like the man standing behind her, who was holding an entire bottle of wine and just chatting away like it was normal.

"Naomi, please, I need help in the kitchen," someone called from between two doors to the side of the room. She was shorter, with perfectly brushed and straight blonde hair, and was in a grey suit. She was too young looking to be a mother or aunt of any sort, so Dean suspected she was just one of the more responsible.

"Sorry, boys, I've got to run," Naomi said, and Dean wasn't too distressed to see her leave, following the girl behind closed doors.

They stood, awkwardly and terribly out of place for a minute before someone else grabbed them, tapping them on the shoulder so they turned around.

"Did I hear you say you were friend's of Cas'?" he asked, this boy looked almost thirty, and as he stood he seemed to command attention, his arms crossed, but his face friendly. The boy who he'd been standing beside was still turned around, and slowly moved to face them. He was a very different person. Shorter, with dark, mean eyes and dark skin. He looked so out of place in the otherwise sea of pasty whites that Dean had to assume he was either a friend or adopted.

"Yeah, sorry if it's a little weird, we were invited…" Dean stammered, still feeling out of place.

"No, no, it's fine," he corrected quickly. "I didn't mean to imply anything less - my name is Michael."

"Ah, yes, hey," Dean said.

"Cas is over there, if you'd like to-"

"I'm here!" a loud voice declared, cutting Michael off and making him _wince._ Haunted eyes turned to the entrance, where another blonde male, adult, had entered, throwing his hands in the air, a grey blazer over an old yellow shirt a strong contrast.

"Luci, my brother, what a _pleasant_ surprise," Michael said.

"Lucy?" Dean echoed.

"Lucifer, likely," Sam said to him, speaking for the first time since entering the building.

"They named a son after the Devil?" Dean scoffed.

"With Michael and Gabriel, and Castiel, I think they're all angels. I bet we'll find a Raphael and an Azazel if we look hard enough," Sam replied.

"But the _Devil_?"

"Shush."

Lucifer had strode in, and I noticed, true to his namesake, that not many within the crowd seemed very keen on his arrival. Everyone looked at him with a mixture of acceptance and despair, an odd combination, but nobody moved to welcome him in.

"Oh, you're all buzzkills," Lucifer purred, striding forward and into the crowd, and Dean was surprised to find someone else slip in, unnoticed through the doors the new arrival had left open. Shorter, with dark hair. He clung to the sides of the room and left Dean's view before he could get a good look.

Lucifer had moved forward to greet Michael, who scowled back and accepted the boy's aggressively over-the-top hug with a ridged back.

"So who's all here, Mikey?" Lucifer said. "I see Bartholomew and uncle Malachi fighting with each other in the corner, and precious little Samandriel's grown so big. Where's Eve or Fate? I missed seeing my little bro Gabe last time, too," he went on, casting his eyes around the room and skimming right over Dean and Sam.

"Fate and aunt Eve are in the kitchen," Michael said. "And if you insist on causing a scene like always I implore you to do it elsewhere."

"Fine, fine, I'll go 'elsewhere,' as you put it," Lucifer pouted, but moved on without a glance back, striding into the family crowd. Michael glanced at Dean and Sam, still scowling, but quickly turned away and left, the dark skinned boy following behind.

"Dean!"

Dean had never been so glad to hear the deep voice of Castiel. He turned, watching the shorter boy fight his way through relatives to stand in front of them, taking a deep breath. After a few moments another followed Cas, a younger looking boy with brown hair.

"This is Gadreel," Cas said, beckoning to him. "Took me a while but I tracked him down. He can take Sam up to any of the entertainment rooms to avoid… this," he said, with a vague wave around the room.

Sam seemed nervous, but nodded eagerly, and Gadreel, after rolling his eyes, nodded and led Sam towards the large staircase at the other end of the room. Dean watched him go, uncertain about letting him into a house he couldn't find his way around, but assured himself with the fact that Castiel wouldn't let him get lost.

"I'm very sorry for bringing you here," Castiel said after a moment.

"Don't be, regardless of what goes down, it'll be better food than anything else I'd be eating for dinner," Dean laughed, and felt satisfied when Castiel looked a little less disappointed.

"So you've met a few people then?" Cas asked, looking a little worried for the answer, when Dean nodded.

"Yeah. A few crazies, a few less crazies, a whole bunch family problems. The norm," Dean assured him.

"Why don't we leave the center of everything for somewhere quieter, somewhere whe-"

"Cassie!"

"Oh god."

Lucifer barrelled in, swinging one arm over the shorter boy's shoulders, leaning in and inspecting Dean with a careful eye.

"I didn't see you last time I was here," Lucifer said.

"Last time you were here you got kicked out, I actually was there," Castiel corrected.

"Whatever, details are details," Lucifer decided, then moved on before the ever more aggravated Cas could say anything. "And who's this ken doll you've got here? Certainly no family member, that's for sure. Much too attractive to be related to us."

"This is Dean, he's a friend," Cas explained, and Dean nodded a hello.

"Crowley! Get over here!" Lucifer shouted, and the man who's slipped in materialized from the crowd, holding a glass of a liquid Dean couldn't identify in his hands. He cast his eyes around the room like he was constantly evaluating everything, his posture screaming royalty, but he moved to Lucifer's side like a pet, a pet with a plan, likely. "Doesn't he look perfect?"

"Perfect for what?" Crowley snapped, and his voice carried a deep british accent.

"Our business!"

"What business," Castiel growled, shoving an offended looking Lucifer off his shoulders, finally.

"Modelling," Lucifer declared. "Or hard drugs, we haven't decided."

"You're disgusting," Cas growled, and put a hand on Dean's shoulder, spurring the otherwise immobile boy into movement to try and lead him away.

"It was you guys who cut me off," Lucifer pouted, tilting his head innocently. Cas huffed and pulled Dean away, and he could hear Lucifer cackling in the background before turning to find someone else to terrorize.

"I apologize for my brother," Castiel said softly.

"Wait - that guy was your brother?" Dean echoed. "I thought he was like… a second cousin twice removed or something."

"No, him, Michael, Raphael and Gabriel are all, biologically, completely related to me," Cas admitted. "It's a shame really, that you can get such variations in siblings. Michael's the golden child, set to inherit everything dad runs, with the exception of a few small sub-companies for Gabriel and Raphael. Lucifer was kicked out of the house when he turned eighteen, and cut from the will," Cas said quietly, still leading Dean by the elbow to the corner of the room, where the buzz of people didn't quite reach.

"Sometimes I envy you and your brother. You guys work so well together,' Cas said.

"We're not perfect," Dean assured him.

"But you're family, right?" Cas asked. "Family in this house means money. Everything here is for money, or for power. It's wonderful, I know I'm lucky, but apart from Gabe - and even not, sometimes, like now - I don't have anyone that close to me."

"It's…" Dean began, but faltered, because what could he say? How could he just say 'that's not true' when obviously it was?

He wanted to tell Cas that he was a part of their family, now. That he could be a brother, a Winchester, if he wanted, because family didn't mean blood, but he held his tongue. He held his tongue because it wouldn't have come out right. He wouldn't be able to make his point.

He hadn't known Cas long enough, so he stayed silent until Cas spoke again.

"Hey, I'm sorry about Halloween," he said eventually, and Dean frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"About you having to go get your father. Ever since you got back you've seemed so… not distant, maybe, but definitely occupied. Thinking of something else," Cas said.

"What?"

His father hadn't bothered him after he'd gotten home. Sure, it pissed him off that he'd taken their money, and it made him furious that he'd had to drive all that way on Halloween - one of the only good ones they'd had in awhile, but that was normal. He'd… well, accepted it.

No, what was making him distant was that every night he was kept awake by the memory of Castiel's hand on his arm, stretching up to kiss him. Why he didn't talk to Castiel directly or alone was because he'd have dreams, where he kissed him back, where things went further and that wasn't something he wanted to think about.

He didn't want to embarrass himself, of Cas, for that matter, should he have completely misread every signal of that night.

"Dean?" Cas prompt, pulling him out of his thoughts, and he felt a warm hand gently on his arm, and he smiled, blue eyes a little concerned flashing back.

"Sorry, no, Cas, it's fine. Halloween was amazing," he said.

"That's good," Castiel said, nodding. "And I'm sorry for myself, that night," he added, and Dean turned his head, a little more interested now. "I had a lot to drink - something I'm not used to, and I was a little bit forward. I'm sorry if that made you uncomfortable in anyway."

Oh, god. Castiel didn't think Dean shared _any_ of the same feelings, Dean realized. It wasn't that they were embarrassed to have been caught with crushes, it was that since that night, Dean hadn't spoken of it. Castiel - who had quite drunkenly flirted with him, very obviously, with sitting on his lap and the cliff and the hug and kiss and everything… Must have been mortified to wake up with a hangover the next day and remember what he'd been doing.

"No, no," Dean said, feeling like, maybe, his chance was coming again. "Please, don't worry about that," he tried, "I… It... "

Why did there have to be so many of Castiel's family around? Why couldn't they be alone? Why now? Why-

 _Crash!_

Castiel was gone, running back into the crowd, his tan coat flying out behind him as he disappeared, and it took Dean half a heartbeat to see where he was going.

Lucifer and Michael were locked together, growling like animals. Crowley had moved off to the side, much like Dean, he noted. The brothers were throwing each other around, and things didn't escalate until Lucifer threw a punch and socked his older brother across the jaw, sending him reeling back.

"You jackass," Michael spat, and their family backed up suddenly as the brother squared off again. Dean saw Castiel texting someone, quickly, before pushing forward to the front of the crowd.

The dark-skinned boy from earlier looked like he was trying to help, a hand on Michael's shoulder, trying to push him back, but the taller boy just shoved past towards Lucifer.

Dean had a new definition for dysfunctional.

An older man Dean hadn't met that night stepped forward and grabbed Lucifer's shoulders, pulling him back, but the enraged brother turned around and shoved him down hard.

How did things deteriorate this quickly?

Dean moved forward, through the crowd just a bit so he could hear the words being exchanged.

"I didn't make you do anything!" Michael shouted, and leapt forward, grappling with his brother for a few heartbeats before shoving him away.

"Like dad doesn't listen to everything you say," Lucifer spat. He pulled back his arm, ready for a punch, but Cas grabbed his arm, forcing it down.

"Stop it, Luce," Cas growled, but Lucifer was having none of it. He spun around and brought his hand down across Cas's face, the smaller boy stumbling back, eyes wide with shock, but not betrayal or anything close to that.

Dean felt anger flash through his skin, and he was almost about to step up to fight the man himself when a light voice pierced through the animalistic circling Lucifer and Michael had going.

"You're not allowed to hit Cassie, and you know that," Gabriel said, leaning on the wall. It distracted both Lucifer and Michael, and as Gabriel strode forward, Michael backed away, not out of anything but gladness that the other boy was here to take care of it.,

"Gabriel, you finally joined the party," Lucifer laughed.

"Luci, get out," Gabriel said firmly. "We invited you on principal, clearly that was a bad idea. So why don't you and your… friend leave, okay?"

"Fine," Lucifer growled. "But I'm making sure everyone here knows that _Michael_ threw the first punch," he shouted.

"I did not!" Michael snarled back.

Gabriel grabbed Lucifer roughly, pulling him across the large room, and Dean took the moment to shove his way over to where Cas was, Hannah already beating him to helping him up and brushing him off. He wasn't bleeding, and he didn't look hurt in any way, but Dean still moved in beside him, putting one hand on his back and smiling when Cas turned to face him, blue eyes squinting in a fake smile to reassure him.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"I'm fine," Cas replied breathlessly. "Nobody in this house really hurt's each other," he insisted after a moment. "Lucifer is just a loose screw. He's not… He's not really one of us anymore."

Hannah stepped away, glancing at Dean, then over to Michael who was striding over.

Dean shook his head at Castiel's justification, then wrapped his arms around the smaller boy and pulled him close, closing his eyes and feeling Cas's breathing against his chest.

"I think you might win," Dean laughed, and he felt Cas laugh against him, pulling away and smiling earnestly this time, looking up at Dean with adoration, a glint that made Dean curse everyone else around them. "I mean, my family's bad but at least my dad's gone most of the time."

"So's mine," Cas agreed, then blushed and stepped back, realizing that they were standing quite a bit closer than intended.


	8. Chapter 8: Christmas Special

Chapter Eight: Christmas Special

Dean Winchester had been beginning to look forward to Christmas. Not in a hand-holding, carolling kind of way, but in a clean, bright, wintery bliss sort of way. With John Winchester gone, seemingly forever, now, and Sam settling in with good friends, Dean had managed to turn his sights to a future.

Among some of the changes in his life was the clean house. He'd spent longer than he thought possible or necessary sweeping everything together, putting away dishes, mowing the lawn, weeding, washing. He'd forced Sam to start washing dishes when he used them, and followed the same rule.

He'd also been writing more. He had recently wrapped up the fourth installment of _The Supernatural_ , a piece he'd called _Apocalypse,_ like every bad movie. Charlie's school apparently ate the stories up like teen drama. He didn't know why.

He was also working a lot. Picking as many shifts up at Arby's as he could, working day in, day out, until he'd manage to recollect what he had when his father had taken it from him. He didn't have nearly the amount he might have, but it was, to a degree, enough.

And with a month passing and him finally not being the bully at school, he'd decided to finally open their ratty little house to their new friends. Sam was inviting Kevin over, and Dean had extended his invitation to Charlie and Chuck and, of course, Castiel.

Now, though, he was nervous. They didn't have Christmas lights or a Christmas tree, but Dean had taped up a paper cutout of one. It wasn't actually Christmas, technically though, since nobody could make it the day of. It was post-christmas, the day after, but Dean and Sam had agreed to withhold celebration to be with their friends.

He was running his hands together, nervously, pacing the almost entirely clean house before jumping in fear when their doorbell rang. Oh God, oh God. The place was still a mess. It was gross. It wasn't for guests, they didn't have good enough food. It wasn't going to be good enough. Castiel was used to much better, Charlie was used to much better, damn, even Chuck and Kevin would probably be able to tell they weren't doing well.

He grabbed the door with a shaking hand, feeling his breath catch as he swung open the door, finding Castiel standing there. His overcoat, as always, covered his clothes, but was done up the entire way to his chin. A white scarf billowed around his neck, and his nose was red and his cheeks flushed the same from the cold. His breath came out in little clouds, scruffy hair hanging in front of blue eyes. Dean paused, barely able to process the R-rated thoughts that had appeared in his mind. He'd never seen someone who looked more like they were made for kissing.

And try as Dean might, these thoughts continued to betray him for the past month. Everything Cas did - walking, talking, working on homework, sitting down - it drove Dean crazy to think that he had wasted his chance, and never bothered to follow up on Halloween. Since then, he hadn't been able to imitate the closeness - physically - that he had gotten to Cas. And oh, you can believe that he tried.

"Cas," Dean managed to choke out after a while, noticing for the first time that Cas was holding a stack of green and red wrapped presents. "Come in."

Cas nodded, stepping in and shaking snow off his boots. He kicked them off and paced over to the tree cutout and setting his gifts down. With hands free, he could free his mouth from it's snowy scarf prison.

"Good evening, Dean," Cas said, nodding and glancing about the place. "This isn't how you made it out to be."

 _What the Hell does that mean?_

"It's a lot nicer."

 _Oh._

"Hey Cas!" Sam called, appearing from his room down the hall. "I thought you'd be the first here."

"Is that so?"

"Hmm. Any ideas for games tonight?" he pressed.

"Oh, I hadn't…" Castiel began, as if suddenly fearful he was supposed to prepare a game.

"I was thinking truth or dare?" Sam teased. "Or spin the bottle," he added, raising his eyes at Dean. Dean had to resist snapping out of embarrassment at his increasingly brazen brother.

"We're watching movies tonight," Dean corrected, first Sam, then repeating it to reassure Cas. "Movies."

"Oh, good. Which ones?" Cas asked, and when the doorbell rang again, Dean told Sam to get it so he could follow Cas into their little sitting area, letting him take whichever seat he'd like. Dean was glad when it was a seat Dean could sit beside him on.

"Haven't decided. I think Chuck's bringing a collection over, since we don't have any," Dean said. "We do, though, have hot chocolate mix and marshmallows," he said quickly.

"My favourite," Cas laughed, and pulled his legs up under him, in such a way that he had no choice but to lean closer to Dean. The other boy was glad for the distraction of Charlie striding in and flouncing down into the seat beside him.

"You're little brother's a little strange," Charlie declared, and Dean frowned.

"Yeah?"

"I think he thought he'd be able to trick me into getting under mistletoe with him," she laughed, and Dean had to laugh as well. His brother was a shy kid - until he was comfortable with someone.

"Two smart for that?" Dean asked.

"Well, for one, his mistletoe was a piece of pine tree, and second, I don't bat that way," Charlie replied back, leaning into Dean.

"Ah, well, there's a learning curve in there for him somewhere," Dean offered. When the beginnings of silence fell over them, he hurried to fill it. "Chuck's bringing some movies over, but I'm not sure which ones - anything you want to do before then? Or after?"

Charlie shook her head slightly as she thought.

"I can't think of anything. Honestly I'm so done after this Christmassy week I'm just glad to be able to relax will some friends," she admitted. He felt Cas nodding beside him.

"I can agree," he said. "I've been dealing with a Gabriel more sugar-high than usual, and a Michael more self-righteous than usual."

"Ouch," Dean said, in offered sympathy, but couldn't help the green head rearing itself in the back of his mind - they were complaining about _too much Christmas?_ Dean would have given anything to be able to have that problem. Have a family like that.

"Hey Dean!" Sam called from behind them. "I think Chuck's here. I'll get the- No!"

Everyone turned to look, just in time to see the retreating form of Sam down the hallway, and the blonde-haired young girl who stood in the doorway. She must have been Sam's age, with a pretty face, and typical too much make-up for a middle schooler. She held a present wrapped in blue paper.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm here for Sam," she said, peeking her head down the hallway.

"I gathered, 'cause you're certainly too young for me," Dean said, his voice accidentally falling into it's former gruff nature. He stood up, approaching the girl in a sort of saunter - he wasn't entirely sure what to make of her, or why Sam might have sprinted out of the room. "I'm Sam's brother, Dean, who are you?"

"My name is Becky," she said, "Can you give this to- Wait a minute," she paused, narrowing her eyes. "Sam's brother?"

"Yeah, that's me," Dean assured her, nodding.

"You write the stories, then?" Becky said excitedly. "The Supernatural?"

Dean looked back to where Charlie was pointedly looking away.

"I do, why?" he snapped. She broke into a grin, from ear to ear, bouncing back on her heels like it was - well, Christmas.

"That's so cool! I love those stories! You absolutely _have_ to write another one! Have you already started it? Do you know what's going to happen? Can I read it? Where is it?" she said, one question after another and glancing around Dean like he might be hiding a stock of them. He stepped back. Sam's response seemed more justified.

"Charlie!" Dean shouted, "Can you come here?"

"No!" Charlie shouted back. "I don't control who hands the stories to who, Dean, it's not my doing."

Dean smiled at Becky.

"Well, you seem nice, and I'll give this to same, but I really think we better part ways, right?" Dean tried, reaching out to take the gift and set it on the kitchen counter. Becky stayed in the doorway.

"Who are you hanging out with?" she asked, peering into the house.

"Some friends?"

"Cas?"

Dean paused. "And a few others," he said slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Why do you know that?"

"Well, Bela said that when she got the copy she gave me she got it from Jo who's heard one of the high schooler's saying that the author was writing based on his actual friends," Becky said in one long breath. "And considering how you _write_ Castiel, I can't imagine him not being here if you're hanging out. I am confused though, is his name actually Castiel? Is that a fake name or something? What about the others?"

"Look, kid-"  
"Becky?"

Dean glanced up, seeing Chuck standing at the edge of his driveway, confused, holding a stack of presents. But mostly concerned with the girl. She smiled again, leaping up and rushing over to him.

"Chuck!" she exclaimed, hugging him enthusiastically and nearly knocking him over. When he managed to untangle himself, he glanced at Dean with a worried look. Dean shrugged back.

"Look, Beck, it's sweet that you're here, but we do have work to do, and you wouldn't want to push the release date for the next story back, would you?"

"No! Of course not!" she said, then turned and waved back to Dean before blowing a kiss and racing down the street again, apparently with a never ending stream of energy.

Dean waited until she was out of earshot.

"Dude, what the Hell?"

"That's Becky," Chuck replied like it wasn't obvious, reaching the door as he did so. Dean helped him pile the presents on the carpet.

"Yeah, but…?" he pressed.

"Oh, the story thing - she's a little obsessive, but it's nothing hurtful," Chuck said, shrugging. "I got a few short stories published over the course of last year in the _Introduction Monthly_ , this stupid little magazine that publishes new authors, reviews on new movies, new restaurants, anything that doesn't have much light on it yet. Her mother runs the business, and she took a shine to my work," he explained, rubbing his hands together to warm them up. "She probably got ahold of your copies of The Supernatural. It's a wonder it took her this long to find your house."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she found mine in like a month. Since then she shows up every once in awhile if I don't put out anything new. It's quite bothersome," Chuck offered, taking a seat in one of the chairs, crossing his legs as if this conversation was a normal person's problem.

"It's no wonder she took a shine to your brother, Dean," Castiel pointed out. "If she loves the stories, she has a chance to meet the characters."

"Look, can we just move on from the freakshow that was that conversation and watch a movie or something?" Dean growled, falling back into his seat.

"Right, sure," Chuck agreed, nodding and bending down to grab the DVD's he'd brought over. "We have a few options…"

~~Time Break for Mobile Friends~~

After ten minutes of weighing pros and cons of the movie options, the answer was settled when it was revealed that Dean actually hadn't seen The Nightmare Before Christmas, The Polar Express _or_ A Christmas Carol. The answer was that they would watch all of them regardless, and settle on the Polar Express first.

Dean was surprised it was animated.

They had chips and hot chocolate and cookies that Charlie had brought over, and curled up under heavy, warm blankets Dean pulled out of the closet. Charlie curled up at his side and Kevin arrived only a few minutes after it began, and Sam and him joined for the movie marathon.

Dean wasn't sure he really liked The Polar Express movie, but he watched it in silence as the moral of Christmas spirit was presented and tried to enjoy it anyways. What he did enjoy, though, was seeing how enraptured Sam was by the story, and the warmth provided by the closeness of his friends.

When the first movie ended, the credits rolling, Dean took everyone's mugs to get a refill and headed into the kitchen.

"We should to presents now!" Sam exclaimed, grabbing one at random from the half decent pile accumulated at the fake tree. "We've waited long enough, Dean!"

"Fine!" Dean called back, pouring still mostly hot water into the fourth mug. He stirred them all slowly, watching over the edge of the stove to where he could see his friends gathered. He dropped some marshmallows in each, then realized he'd have to make two trips with full mugs. He did, quickly handing them all out and sitting down in time for Sam to toss a wrapped box at his head. Dean caught it and found the tag. From Chuck.

His heart jumped at the idea that someone who wasn't related to him was getting him a gift because he'd wanted to. It wasn't going to be obligation or regifted - probably. It wasn't his father's lame excuse for a gift. Chuck grinned at them all, and Dean realized Sam had been careful in doing one set of gifts at a time.

He began to open the present carefully, peeling at the taped edges before being able to rip it open and find what had been wrapped. It was a book, clean and new and black, carved with gold calligraphy and declaring _Monsters in New and Ancient History_.

"It's a comprehensive collection of mythical beasts and monsters throughout the ages," Chuck explained. "I figured you had an interest in it, and if you continue writing… it might be useful."

Dean grinned, running his fingers over the lettering before flipping open the book, crisp pages with dark print, small and detailed with sketched drawings.

"This is so cool," Dean said, finally tearing his gaze away from the book, and suddenly realizing his gift choices might have been stupider than he thought. He wished he could undo all of his choices. "Thanks, Chuck."

Chuck looked way too pleased with himself, but everyone else had already started to shower him in thanks, so he got distracted trying to keep up with it.

Sam handed out Charlie's gifts next, and once again as Dean opened a leather jacket, sewn with patches and ripped in a way that didn't seem intentional he wished he could change his gifts.

"I found it at that thrift shop by the liquor store," Charlie said enthusiastically. "It was so cool I thought you'd love it."

"I do," he said, running his hands over the material and soaking in the feeling of getting something new to show off. Charlie seemed to have found both his and Sam's gifts there, as he had black jacket with a green lining that looked just nerdy enough to fit Sam's growing figure.

"Oh, I can't wait," Castiel said, grabbing the gift's he'd brought and handing them out before even Sam could get to it.

Once he'd torn open the slightly awkwardly wrapped gift, he realized why - several CDs fell out, none individually wrapped, and Dean frowned, reading some of the titles. _The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, The Who, Aerosmith…_

"I remember you have an affinity for classic rock, but couldn't figure out your favourite bands without it being obvious, so I found a list of some of the more famous ones… I apologize if it's not great…" Castiel began, rattling off other things he'd thought of and why this was the best. Eventually Dean had to interrupt him.

"No, it's great, Cas, really, thank you," he said, picking up one of the cases. "This is so cool, and without consistent internet access I do still rely on CDs."

"Well, I'm glad," Cas said, glancing away from Dean and over to Sam. "I admit, your brother was easier."

"Oh, cool!" Sam explained, holding up an old brass spyglass. He pulled it open, peering through one end and giggle as he looked from person to person.

Sighing in resignation, Dean stood up and grabbed his badly wrapped gifts, handing them out one by one and feeling embarrassment already flush over his cheeks. He paused almost unnoticeably before handing his gift to Cas, then forced himself to get it together and sat down.

For Sam, he'd done what he did every year. Some nerdy magazine he found in Safeway, and as much candy as he could get his hands on.

Chuck hadn't been that hard, out of all of them, and was very easy to please with a blank, nice blue and grey bound journal. He pet the pages like an animal, the gears spinning in his head.

Charlie was much harder, considering he didn't know her that well, and didn't know what she already had to didn't have. In the end, he found a map in the same bookstore he bought Chuck's gift, that was the map of _Tamriel_ , which Dean didn't understand but had recognized it as one of Charlie's nerd things.

Cas had been difficult, but only because Dean hadn't found it hard. He found an old tan jacket at a thrift shop - not the one by the liquor store, surprisingly - and from the crafty section of Wal-Mart found patches that looked like black wings. It reminded him of the boy's Halloween costume, and he couldn't help but think that the look suited him. That, and he needed to get out of the trench coat.

He watched as Cas opened his, nervously chewing on his lip in a manner that he hoped wouldn't become a habit. Cas pulled the jacket up, looking at it carefully, running his hands over the seams and collar, before turning it around and finding the wings, grinning slightly to himself. Dean held his breath.

"I figured you could use something other than that trench coat," Dean said, coughing awkwardly.

"It's an overcoat," Cas corrected, before shrugging out of the _overcoat_ and then out of his suit's jacket to replace it with the new jacket. "And I love it, Dean," he assured him, and he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Good. Good. That means we can do the next movie?" Dean said, turning away from Cas quickly before Dean said something he might regret.

~~Mobile Break~~

He really like The Nightmare Before Christmas, and it was almost midnight by the time they started A Christmas Carol. Chuck had, regretfully, had to go home, and Kevin had left an hour earlier. Dean was on his fourth mug of hot chocolate, and feeling the effects of sleep deprivation now. Charlie was nearly passed out, but still adamantly insisting they finish the last movie. So they started it, and halfway through Sam stood up and left without a word.

By the time the credits were rolling, the music playing nearly lulling him to sleep completely, he had to drag himself up and pull Charlie off the couch. It was almost two am.

"Alright, alright, I'm going!" Charlie grumbled, gathering herself together sleepily. Dean grinned as he led her to the door, helping her with her coat and then sending her off into the frigid air, hoping it would wake her up enough not to have her fall asleep at the wheel.

Then he was alone with Cas.

"I guess I better get going," Castiel said, rubbing one hand over his eye, his discarded jacket flung over his arm. He looked a lot younger, without the accountant get-up. His hair was messed, his blue eyes unfocused, the jacket no longer hanging off him but fitted and nice looking. He seemed real, and less ethereal than he had before.

"If you want to," Dean said awkwardly, as if that's ever a valid response. Cas grinned though.

"Honestly, if I try driving I might kill myself accidentally," Cas said, stretching out his shoulders. "I can't even find my keys…"

"You know you could stay…" Dean offered, then realized that Cas' keys were sitting on the table directly beside where he was standing. He frowned, not having pined Cas for someone so careless. He stepped forward, grabbing them, and offered them to Cas.

Castiel took them without hesitation - or surprise - and stayed silent. Dean was silent too, until Cas's eyes flickered upwards, then back to Dean's face. He frowned, then followed where his gaze had gone.

Sam's piece of pine was tapped above them.

Oh.

"It's not technically-" Dean began, stammering out an awkward excuse. Cas' hand found it's way to his though, and he still waited silently, searching Dean's face as if looking for an answer.

 _Oh._

He moved his hands, tentatively pulling Castiel ever so slightly closer, then dipping his head down, meeting him halfway and feeling heat blossom upon contact, until Dean's sense of shyness melted away and he wrapped his arms around Cas' waist, and felt Cas' arms linked around his neck and the kiss turned deeper. His heart was beating, he thought his skin might burst into flames.

He couldn't believe this was happening.

His fingers buried themselves in the fabric of Cas' shirt, and when he moved he freed it from his belt, his hands grazing skin. Cas smiled against the kill, then pulled away, leaving Dean breathless and flushed. He leaned his head against the shorter boy's, both of them silent and grinning like fools.

"I thought I'd missed my chance," Dean admitted, lifting one arm up to cup the side of Castiel's face, his thumb trailing over his cheekbone and under his eye. Cas leaned into the touch.

"I have the feeling I'd have given you too many chances," he responded.

"Do you still need to go?" Dean asked, hating the almost whine that reached his voice.

"Only if you won't let me stay," Cas said, before stretching onto his toes and kissing Dean again, this time all awkwardness gone, the only thing left being the very beginning hints of attraction and affection. A true kiss, this time, not a first.

Everything was Cas, for that moment - the scent, the feeling, the taste. The warm of his body through even the layers of clothes, the slight flavour of chocolate on his lips, the smell of snow and skin - it was perfect, if only for the few heartbeats they stood along, at two am, wrapped in each other's arms two days after christmas. Dean was vaguely aware that it was snowing outside. When Dean had to break the kiss again it was with great regret, but only to lead Cas down the hall, before he closed the door quietly to his bedroom, and they resumed kissing again.

~~Third Break~~

Dean woke up early in the morning. Cas was beside him, and once memory flooded back, he realized how incredibly wonderful that sentence was. It was he - Dean Winchester - who had suggested going to be though, even though every instinct in his body had been screaming to take what time he and Cas had together, to have him there and now and relish in the angelic boy in his arms. But instead, the night had ended perfectly, full (mostly) clothed, lying with the moonlight filtered through the window. He didn't want to risk everything by pushing anything. They had all the time in the world now, Dean would make sure of it. Dean reached out now and found Cas's body, who stirred under his chest and turned towards him.

"You're awake," Dean mumbled sleepily.

"I am," Cas agreed, wiggling closer in to Dean's heat.

Dean obliged, opening his arms and letting the boy slid in. Dean pulled him in tightly, one hand trailing fingers through messy black hair, resting his cheek on the top of the boy's head. There were a dozen questions Dean should be asking, but he couldn't think of any.

It was too early, and Dean was in too good of a mood for that.

All too soon, he was aware of the sound of keys turning in the front door, and groaned when he realized he'd have to explain Cas's continued presence to his nosy brother.

When he glanced at the time - six-thirty - he realized after that night, there was no way his brother was awake that early, let alone outside. His heart hammering, he ran his hand through Cas' hair, assuring himself that there was something good in his life. Something real. He pressed a kiss to Cas' hairline, the boy murmuring something against Dean's neck.

There was only one other person with keys to their house.

All the time in the world...


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine:

 **Thank you to anyone still reading. I can't promise consistency, I can't even promise good writing, but I love hearing from you, and I'm just glad to be able to entertain you for a bit. Also, it's a lot shorter than they usually are. I'm sorry about that. My posts are going to become shorter permanently, the exchange being with less pressure I'll update more frequently. Perhaps some will still be longer. Anyway, please tell me what you think, and I hope you enjoy.**

"Quick," Dean hissed, rolling Cas over and stirring the boy out of his sleep.

"What?" Cas mumbled.

"Please, Castiel, I-" he cut himself off. What was he afraid of? His father had never shown any sign of being anywhere near _homophobic_ , and Dean couldn't think of a reason why he might feel so terrified. He came to the conclusion that had Cas been a girl, he'd have been just as spooked.

Bottom line was that Dean was just scared of John Winchester. He didn't want to be found in any position but a defensive one. He needed to be on guard.

"What's happening?" Cas asked, sitting up. Dean rolled to his feet, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head.

"Just… Stay in here," Dead order, then pointed over to the corner of the room, near his door. "Actually, stay over there." If John did, or some reason, need to come in his room, Cas would be safest over there.

"Dean," Cas said.

"Please," Dean begged.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, then sighed and stood up, glaring at Dean all the way as he moved to stand over by the corner. Dean smoothed down the creases in his clothes, ran a hand through his hair then put on his best apathetic face and opened the door.

He could see John's shoulder, and he was moving about the kitchen, spreading jam on toast.

"Hey, Dad," Dean said, trying to sound like he hadn't heard him come in. "What are you doing back?"

"Dead end," John grunted. "Man stiffs me and leaves me, so I had to come back. I'm thinking We'll head out east then. Somewhere near New York. Lots of opportunities there. In fact… I think I have a contact left from an old client of mine…"  
"Dad, we can't move to New York," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "We'd be living in a cardboard box."

"True," his dad agreed, then lifted his head to glance around. "And you've done a good job with this place. Grass was even cut. Barely recognized it."

"I've been trying to give Sam a good house to live in," Dean muttered, trying to keep the disdain out of his voice.

"That's good," John said, lifting the toast to his mouth. Dean slid into one of the seats at the table.

"So… What's your plan right now?" Dean asked, wondering exactly how he should be preparing for this moment. With his dad, it could be anything. 'Pack your bags we're leaving right now', 'I'm going to head out soon', 'I'm going to stay a moment', or a combination of all three.

"Don't know," John said, and Dean conceded that that was the most common answer. "Maybe I'll stick around a bit. I do have an appointment with the mechanic in an hour so I've got to go," he said, glancing at his watch. "The car's been acting funny."

"You can't fix it yourself?" Dean asked. His father had always done his own repairs.

"No," John said. "I looked, but can't figure it out."

"Alright," Dean said, looking down at his folded hands. "How long will you be?"

"Some time," John said, waving him off. Dean stood up at John grabbed his jacket off the coat rack, leaving the plate and crumbs sitting on the counter.

"I might be gone when you get back," Dean said, and John nodded. "Sam might be, as well," he added, and John nodded again. "You should say hi to him before you go."

"He's fine," John called back, and swung open the door. He left, slamming the door behind him, and Dean left out a long, slow breath, pressing his forehead against the wall. For God's sake, why now, of all times?

Dean had forgotten that their father was still a part of their lives. He'd forgotten that this stupidly little _sleep spot_ hadn't been a home. That it never would be. That John _always_ showed up again, and they _always_ moved.

He glanced back at the door to his room, and slowly began wander down the hallway. He passed Sam's door, the kid probably still passed out after last night, and quietly pushed his way back into the dim room.

It was like cold water washing over him. The lights were dim, the slightly open window cleared the stuffy air and kept everything fresh. Cas was standing in the corner, looking like a misplaced sweater. He perked up when Dean entered, stepping forward.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"Look, I'm sorry-"

"No, Dean, really," Cas said, cutting him off. "I don't want an apology, I really just want to know what happened."

"My father's home," Dean said simply. "Things are going to get rough."

Cas nodded. "Should I go?"

Every part of his being wanted to say No, that Cas should stay with him, to hold on to this little pocket of perfect, but he couldn't. His father was gone now, but he would be back. He wanted to keep Castiel as far away from John Winchester as he could.

"You should," Dean agreed. "But can I come with for a bit?"

Cas smiled. "Alright. Where should we go?"

Dean thought for a moment. "Charlie's lookout?"

~Mobile Break~

Cas was a good driver, Dean thought, as he kicked open the passenger side door and stepped out, rough gravel crunching beneath his feet. A red truck sped pas, a foot and a half from his face, blowing exhaust in his face. He coughed, then turned to find Cas. It was quite, with the truck fading in the distance. Nothing but the trees and the wind and the road. Maybe he'd suggest that they just go for a drive.

They made their way into the woods. In the daytime, it was a lot brighter, cleaner looking. The actual cliff edge was bright and grassy. The view was amazing - everything in the city, then beyond to blue mountains and sky. Dean took a deep breath.

"You know, my brother told me once that there was a family he knew when he was in high school that owned a circus monkey," Castiel said.

Dean turned to him.

"I'm sorry?"

"Yeah. Apparently they'd rescued an abused circus monkey. Quite entertaining."

"What?"

"Dean, I can't explain this any clearer," Cas said.

"No, don't worry, I got you - I'm just wondering why you wanted to say this," Dean stammered.

"Something to talk about," Cas muttered. "The silence might be relaxing, but it sure isn't helpful. I thought something less… stressful… might be appropriate."

"Thanks," Dean offered.

"Look, I know it's a lot to handle, but if you ever need anything you can ask," Cas said, reaching his hand out and taking Dean's.

"I'm worried my father is going to make us move," Dean admitted. "I'm worried we're going to be dragged somewhere far away and we'll never get to see each other again. Or Chuck, or Charlie. We're going to end up alone again, in a new school, with no friends. Cas, I don't want that."

Castiel nodded, stepping closer, and Dean wondered if after last night, he was allowed to kiss Castiel on a regular basis.

"It's not like the other times," Dean said. "When I'm leaving behind one or two half-friends and a broken house. I have good friends. Sam has good friends. Almost a home. And I have you, now, and I didn't have you before and I don't want to go back to that."

"You know, you do have my cell phone number," Cas said. "Even if you are forced to move, we don't have to lose contact with each other."

"I know, but it's not the same." Dean said, Castiel lifted himself onto his toes, kissing the corner of Dean's mouth lightly.

"Well, right now, we don't have to worry about that. It can just be me and you in the same place."

Dean grinned, then grabbed the back of Cas's neck, kissing him hard and surprising him. He took a step, pushing Cas against a tree and reveling in the smell of pine and grass and wind. The sky stretched forever behind them, the sound of cars passing occasionally on the road was just far enough away to not disturb them. Dean felt Cas's hands on his chest, then his back.

He pulled back, taking a deep breath and meeting Castiel's blue eyes. The other boy was smiling, a full, ear-to-ear smile.

"So, a circus monkey?" he said.

"His name was Pablo," Cas replied, and Dean laughed, moving in to kiss him again. They stood like that, a tangle of limbs, until Dean moved away from Castiel's lips and instead kissed down his jaw and neck.

"You're not going to lose me," Cas promised, his voice strained a little. Dean growled against Cas's neck, feeling the full weight of everything crashing back down. He stopped his frantic kissing, instead just burying his head into the crook of Cas's neck until he could see nothing. He felt Cas's hands brushing through his hair. "You're not going to lose me, or Chuck, or Charlie, or anyone."

~Mobile Friends Again~

When Dean finally got home, a few hours later, he swung open the door to find his father standing in amongst dozens of boxes, most of which were already half full.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten:

Packing.

Dean didn't even have the ability to shout at his dad.

Getting into the car.

How was this happening so fast? Was Sam okay? Should he talk to Sam? He watched John setting the last of the boxes into the truck of the impala.

The engine, revving.

They pulled out slowly. Had John already sold the house, or would they get an eviction notice in the mail?

The trees were green blurs.

Dean could feel each breath dragging in, then out, then in again. He watched the trees of their neighbour drift by. He hadn't told his work he wasn't going to be coming in again.

The freeway.

Nobody knew. School was tomorrow. Nobody knew anything and school was tomorrow. He turned his head, seeing Sam was leaning his head against cold glass. His eyes were red. Dean lifted a hand to his face, pulling it away slightly damp. His eyes were red too.

Classic rock music. Bumps in the road. Sam by his side, his father humming. Everything so perfectly familiar driven like a stake through his heart. He closed his eyes.

Oh, God. Nobody knew.

He pulled out his phone.

He hadn't even been able to shout. He'd been too stunned. Too shocked. Too incapable of anything but compliance, as per usual. He watched the side of his father's head for a full minute before turning back to his phone. His fingers danced over the keyboard. What did he say? What could he say? Oh, sorry, by the way it turns out I'm leaving right-freaking-now.

 _I'm so sorry I didn't know it was happening but my dad had already packed up._

He sent the message before he could second guess himself, then pressed his head against the window, trying to drown in the sound of classic rock. It wasn't working this time.

"Where are we going," Dean said, his voice scratchy in desperation to not come out as whinny.

"New York," John declared, clearly please with himself. "I met a man out in Miami. He had a business idea that could actually work but he lives in New York. He offered me a job. Dean, this could be it - this could be it."

"I hope so," Dean replied, feel his phone vibrate against his leg. He grabbed it.

 _What? When are you going? Should I come over? Do Charlie and Chuck know?_

Dean bit hard at his lip to keep from speaking out loud.

 _We're gone_.

The response was almost immediate.

 _I'm sorry?_

Dean shook his head. He didn't want to have to do this. Not with John sitting beside him.

 _We're gone. We left. I didn't even have a moment to use the bathroom, everything happened so fast._

He turned his head, feeling the phone vibrate again but not being able to look. What could anyone say? Sorry covered it. Useless. Pointless. He finally found the courage to check his phone.

 _Oh_

No period. No inflection. It was worse than anything Dean had come up with. Just… oh.

 _Cas I'm so sorry._

He sent back, staring at his phone this time, waiting for the message. It buzzed, the message icon displayed on screen, but he couldn't open it. He stared at it until he forced himself to keep going.

 _It's not your fault_.

Dean shook his head.

 _I'm so sorry. I don't want to leave._

The phone was vibrating nearly consistently now.

 _Where are you going?_

 _New York._

Silence. Buzz.

 _That's far._

 _I know_.

Silence. Buzz.

 _You're not going to lose me. You're not going to lose Chuck or Charlie. Remember?_

Dean sighed. Right. Of course. Because hope and good will could solve every single problem. Not like his dad was a crazy person. Cas would move on quickly. Easily. Dean wasn't some god-sent perfect boy, he was just Dean. And Cas was too friendly not to make new friends. Charlie, Chuck, they'd all be fine. They were all stable.

"Phone's buzzing a bit," John commented, eyes still locked on the road. "Leaving a girl behind?"

Dean shook his head.

"No girls," he replied. John nodded, as if not really interested, and went back to driving along the forest-lined roads.

~break~

It was approximately three days of continuous driving before the freeway fell away and they were turning on streets with tall skyscrapers and bright, neon lights. Dean had never been to New York before, but the moment he rolled down the window, leaning out to see the street better, he regretted it.

He'd never get it. The cigarette smoke, the harsh sounds, the shouting, the gasoline smell. New York was romanticised so often, and yet it looked like another bum city from the seat of the impala.

He played with his phone as his dad fought through city traffic.

The last message received was still open, from nearly four hours ago, now.

 _It's been three days and we're still texting. Clearly, we're not going anywhere._

Dean scowled at it. How could Cas know? How could Cas know anything? Did he have half a dozen boyfriends who moved across the country spontaneously?

Then Dean was scowling because he didn't know if it were better if he was the seventh boyfriend Cas had long distance, or the only and the others hadn't worked.

Then he was scowling because he'd continued to refer to himself as his _boyfriend_ , as if that was happening. God - They'd barely spoke since everything happened, Dean didn't even know if they were, or would have, dated. If they were a thing. If he even had a right to feel so protective and scared.

He quickly sent a message back.

 _Thanks. Three days, a lifte time to go._

If Dean and Cas never met again, he thought bitterly, why was it useful to keep texting? Wouldn't it be better if they never met again to be allowed to move on? It would certainly be less cruel to them both.

He stared at his phone.

Would this just hold him back?


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven:

"We're gonna be late, Sammy," Dean declared, tossing a shirt to the younger boy and pulling his own on.

"I'm tired," Sam said. "And I don't want to go."

"Well it must be the end of the world," Dean declared, shaking his head. "Sammy doesn't want to go to school? What's next?"

Sam didn't respond, not even to crack a smile or acknowledge his joke. Dean couldn't blame him. The faux smile he'd possessed the last week they'd been here was starting to burn him.

"Look, I know it's not ideal, but it's not like we're unused to this," he said, shaking his jacket over his shoulders to fix the collar. He glanced down at his younger brother, who was tying his shoes. "Just a sleep spot. We'll be outta New York in no time."

Sam nodded. "I know," he said.

Dean mimicked his nodding motion as they got their stuff together.

This time, they were sat high up in an apartment. An old red brick one, with foggy glass windows and a rusty fire escape. The couple above them were too loud in love, and the roomates below were too loud in fights. Surrounding them were mothers and parents doing their best and not being quite good enough, which to Dean meant that they fit in just fine. The screech of a child could be heard through the walls now as the brothers left their ratty apartment, taking the stairs because the elevator was broken.

The walk to school was longer than it had been last time, on was on the upside of twenty-minutes before the tall, sandy building appeared around the corner. People were already bustling in and out with their heads down. Dean and Sam blended right in.

They were at the tail end of the first semester, and in the beginning of the year. It was certainly not the worst time to enter a new school. Electives were nearly impossible to get, but thankfully auto mechanics was never the most popular one, so Dean had that going for him at least.

Sam went off to his first class, and Dean looked around, trying to find his. Math.

The teacher was old, grey haired but not unkind looking. He spoke with about as much interest in the subject that the subject warranted. Dean didn't hear a word, and then it was off to his next class. Auto, thankfully.

Which allowed him to bury himself in the safety quiz and safety contract and crap, which meant he wasn't allowed to actually touch a vehicle today.

Then lunch, when he met up with Sam and the two of them sat quietly, not saying anything with their backs against cold lockers.

English, then. Dean found himself sitting at the back, staring at the young female teacher enthusiastically going on and on and on about _Catcher in the Rye_ which they had _just_ finished reading, but if Dean hurried he could finish it in time for the test. Instead of that, he stared at the head of the kid sitting in front of him. Red, sleek hair.

Last class, fitness. His favourite of the day, because the coach blew a whistle and Dean buried himself into press-ups and wall sits and the burn in his arms that was just enough to distract him.

Then they went home.

~mobile break~

"It's boring. I don't want to go," Sam complained.

"Sam Winchester? Doesn't want to go to school?" Dean scoffed, tossing the shirt at him. Sam caught it without another word, and accompanied by the screech of a baby they were off to the red brick prison.

Auto, today, first, which he had handed in his safety things, so they let him help a kid who'd never touched a vehicle it seemed change the oil of a staff member's car.

Math. That teacher needed to retire. At least he was trying.

Fitness. A good hour of burning away stress and staring at the kid with black hair cut a little too long. Dean tried to look away, but as they changed towards the end of the class he threw on a tan jacket and disappeared around the hallway, leaving an ache in his chest.

English. Staring at red hair, pretended to hear the teacher, flipping at his copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ and hoping he might learn it through osmosis.

Then they went home.

~mobile break~

"I don't want to go," Sam complained.

Dean threw his shirt at him.

Red brick. Heads down.

Math. Nice teacher.

Auto. Unpracticed students.

English. _Catcher in the Rye._

Fitness. Fluffy black hair.

Then they went home.

~mobile break~

It was several weeks after moving. They were coming home, tired and still without success making friends. It was all Dean could do, anyways, not to shout at the poor kid he was trying to help pass Auto Mechanics. He thumbed the screen of his phone habitually, hoping for another message.

Cas, recently, had been super caught up in his father's business. Apparently something had gone down, and the texts they'd exchanged - the only thing keeping Dean sane - had drifted to a minimum. An unacceptable minimum. It buzzed, and he felt his heart leap as he hurried to check it.

Charlie.

 _Are you sure you're not writing any more?_

Dean stared at the message. She'd been pressuring him to write another short piece, since the kids at her school were disappointed he'd disappeared. He sort of wanted to, as well. It felt good. Make a fictional world, hide away. Cas and him and Sam and Charlie and Chuck all doing things together.

 _Library's not that close. And creative writing is over at this school._

He sent back as the finished the climb to the steps. They opened the door.

Their dad was home. That was a little unusual, actually, and while it was a little unwelcome, nowadays Dean didn't care.

He did care, though, when his father greeted them with a grin too large for his usual demeanour, and handed him a white envelope.

"Sorry for the stunts I pulled, kid," he said, then turned away.

Sam frowned, moving to drop his bag on the table. "What's in it?"

Dean opened it and-

Money. A lot of money. Like…

"Like eight hundred dollars," Dean muttered, and Sam slipped and dropped his bag on the floor. It was quite all that Dean had lost, in paying for school supplies and clothes and home maintenance and food and then the general fact that his father stole from him.

Stole.

"Hey dad," Dean called. "Where'd you get this money?"

John's head appeared around the corner of the kitchen.

"I told you, Dean, our time has come."

"What?"

There was an urgency to his father's voice that didn't quite sit well with Dean. But he let him continued talking.

"I told you. It's legitimate money. We got our first big client who paid upfront some of the bill, and if we can please them then our name is going to be on every billboard across the country. I promise you, this time it's real."

Dean didn't know if he should dare hope that his father wasn't making anything up, or stuff the money away for when it inevitably crashed.

Sam looked hopeful.

"This is home now, New York City," John added, till grinning and showing off slightly crooked teeth. "We'll never have to move again."

Dean forced a smile and thanked his father. One sleep spot too late, it seemed.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve:

Dean was staring. He knew that typically, it's not polite, but since he's alone and he's staring at his fridge, he fingered what the Hell.

He laced his fingers together and rested his head on his hands, staring at the fridge.

The fridge which had cold milk and cheese and a head of lettuce and a tomato and a carton of apple juice and leftover soup from the night before and ketchup and butter and sliced sandwich meat and apples.

A fridge with more food in one place than they've ever had before. He stared not out of confusion or disgust or disappointment or excitement or worry - only because it was, and it existed, and it was his.

He glanced down at his own body, clean, pressed shirt, tie, pants. He should go to work soon. The door clicked and swung open and Sam walked, in, looking a little taller than when he'd last seen him, carrying books in one arm and awkwardly closing the door with the other.

"You staring at the fridge again?" Sam asked, frowning as the door swung shut behind him.

"I have to go to work," Dean dismissed, standing up and moving his plate of to the sink. On the counter there was bread. There was another loaf in the freezer. They had guaranteed food in the future. What a wild concept.

"When are you going to be back?"

"Late, probably," Dean said, forcing his feet into shoes. "Dad's having me sort through all this legal crap, so who knows."

"Why did he put you on paper?" Sam scoffed, tossing his books onto the couch.

"Because," Dean said, opening his arms and doing the best impression of their father as he could. "The time for grunt labour in our family is over. We're the bosses now, kid."

Sam rolled his eyes and sat down.

"Whatever, but if you come back late please don't wake me up again."

"I forgot my keys last time, I promise I won't," Dean called back, grabbing the keys of the key ring with extra determination.

"Just sleep outside if you do!" Sam tossed over his shoulder before the door was shut between them.

It didn't even feel like his life anymore, really. Dean, going to a job that was basically just reading paperwork and making phone calls? Wearing a tie?

His hand fell subconsciously to his pants, feeling for his phone tucked away. He hadn't even considered buying a new phone. Even if they could conceivably swing it. Despite the fact that the thing was basically dying in his hands, he was sure that would be the last string. The last proof that they were still the Winchesters, not some up and coming businessmen.

The phone hadn't received a message since last night. Which was fine, Dean kept telling himself. Timezones aside, that was fine. Everyone may have gone out for the night, or lost their phone, or something. It's not like they'd have a way of letting him know.

And he fiddled with it, trying to get it to suddenly remember it had, in fact, received a message.

Despite the success, and the newfound money, and the food and clothes and everything that was everything he'd always wanted, he was struggling to remember how he'd lived _before._ Because for years and years and years, this was how he imagined heaven and paradise. Him and Sam and his dad, with enough to keep them going and some left over. And more on the way. With a real job working for real people and Sam was able to look at universities and colleges without guilt. This was his definition of perfect. He had never, not once, considered that he'd feel like he needed someone else around to fulfill that. He hd Sam. That was perfect.

And yet, the happiness he felt was more like relief, that they were done, that things were getting better, and he had been consistently unable to make friends with anyone here. He whatever it was about Chuck and Charlie and Cas didn't carry over here. Nobody here cared, really, for what he was doing. And now… Now there was barely any time in the school year, and he'd be permanently surrounded by adults the rest of his life.

Nobody his age walked into his dad's business.

His dad's business - or, where Dean worked at - was a tall, thin, small building compactly set between a telephone company and an italian restaurant on what was probably the most average street in the world.

He waved for the secretary, went up the stair, found the tight little office space crowding with documents and sat down. He'd gotten half done yesterday, he'd do the rest today, and work on a real project.

'Legal papers' were actually clients. Dean was in charge of finishing full profiles and confirming payment had been sent and making sure nobody tried to screw them over. He had a list of names and phone numbers and order numbers and a computer database and a manila folder with lined paper and Microsoft Word.

He worked and worked and worked and made phone calls and worked and worked as he watched the sun slowly set over the New York skyline. The glowing red ball cast bright ambers and yellows over the smoky haze of the city and lit the inside of his office on fire. It was during this moment that his phone finally vibrated.

He pulled it out maybe too eagerly, and set his eyes scanning over the words. Castiel.

 _I can google you now._

Dean smiled at the text for quite a while before formulating something not stupid to say back.

 _Things have been going quite well. But what about you?_

He had to put the phone down then, and get back to work. He stared at the phone number under the name _Henry Brothwell_ and thought that a conversation with him would be appealing as wet cheese.

But then his phone vibrated, so it was okay.

 _It's good here. Boring, I guess. If things are going well I guess that means you won't be coming back?_

Dean stared at the message, then picked up the company phone to call Henry.

The conversation was twenty-four minutes and sixteen seconds long, and was the worst part of his job to date. Exactly as he expected. But he got what he needed and he spent a few minutes recording and organizing before figuring he better respond to Cas.

 _No_. He sent back. The quickest way to the truth.

 _But once you're out of school, you could come visit, right? As a legal adult you can't be forced around by your father anymore._

Dean nodded. That was true. That was true. There were no laws saying he couldn't go see Cas whenever the Hell he wanted. Except…

 _I have a job working for my father. I'm not going to make the mistakes he made and leave stability just because it's not what I wanted. I'm not making his mistakes and throwing this all away. And I couldn't leave Sam._

Dean got back to work, and it was an uncomfortably long time before he got a reply back.

 _Wow. Okay. Nevermind._

Dean frowned at the message.

 _What?_

And he had to get back to work.

 _Nothing. Just thought that you were more of a passion person._

And Dean had to stare at that message for a really long time. He didn't have a response. What could he tell Cas - yeah, he hates it here, but this is his ticket out. If he goes galavanting off somewhere now, he might never get another chance to rise out of the poverty cycle, or whatever it is they teach in classes.

Happiness be damned, he supposed, even if the stray thought drifting into his mind made him want to hurt someone.

Because it hadn't mattered that he was so poor when he was talking with Cas and Charlie and Chuck, and they hadn't had to spend money and they'd had more fun in a few months than Dean had ever had.

But what was the trade off? It was juvenile to think he could live that sort of fantasy.

 _You come from a rich family. You probably don't realize how important this is._

Dean regretted it, but he'd hit send.

 _Charlie and Chuck and I are taking a camper of Charlie's out this summer. We're doing a sort of road trip to celebrate graduation. If we're not texting you, we've lost reception._

Dean texted back. And he texted back, and it didn't matter at that point if he was even forming full sentences or even full words, and most of the time it was just 'Cas.'

There wasn't a reply.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey! Thank you all so so so much for your support throughout this long, long endeavour. I wish I could reply to your comments without sending you a PM to thank you, so just in case you didn't think it mattered - I appreciate you all so much and so deeply. It's your comments and love that gets me writing the next chapter.**

 **I do have a little PSA. Two, actually.**

 **PSA 1: I have no freaking clue what John is selling, okay? I'm think it's something super generic like paper or boxes or freaking plastic spoons, I don't know. It doesn't affect the story at all. If it does, I'll come up with something.**

 **PSA 2: We're nearing the end. Can you believe it? Basically two years of having no time management, and I'm almost ready to close it. Can you see it coming...?**

 **Thank you all so much again for sticking with me.**

Chapter Thirteen:

It hit Dean, like a speed drunk bus, one day, that he was not, in fact, Castiel's boyfriend.

And it hit him directly after Cas had broken his - two day long - silence.

 _Sorry._

And that was all he said, really, and Dean apologized too, though he wasn't sure really why, and everything moved on but it was the simplicity in that conversation that made him realize that he didn't have a right to Cas's heart, and likewise couldn't expect from him more than he could from Charlie or Chuck. He knew, in his own mind, exactly why he had to stay with his father's company, and it went beyond wanting to make a better life for himself.

For Dean to be happy, all he would need is Sam, safe, alive, healthy, and roof to sleep under when it rains. He knew he could be happy that way, and he knew Sam would be happy that way too.

He also knew that his little brother could make a name for himself. In law, in medicine, in politics - somewhere, with the right education, Sam would be able to do amazing things. Important things. But, as a fourteen year old, he wouldn't choose to leave Dean.

And Sam could probably build any life for himself, and John was going to support that, Dean knew. He also knew that if he wasn't working for the company, John wasn't going to put up with any of Dean's wants.

If Dean walked, Sam would follow, and he wasn't throwing away the chance to build a life. A real life, with his real family. John wasn't a monster, he was practical. And Dean didn't have a future the way Sam did.

So he sat at his desk, working phone numbers and clients with signature charm that never paid off in class. His school work slipped, but then again, when had it ever really been good. John didn't care, as long as the numbers came rolling in.

"No, Mr. Alcoast, the pricing is only negotiable within ten percent, we can't do much better without screwing ourselves over. You understand, right, you run a-" he paused, flicking his eyes to the file. "-car manufacturer. You can't just make less carburetors because they cost too much. We can't just give you a cheaper price because we need more clients. What we can do, though, is give you a price that's just as reasonable as any other company, but for a better and more reliable product."

The man was a mumbler, and in the end, after just a little more conflict he settled and Dean was able to cross the last name off his list and check his real phone and the time. Just before midnight.

Graduation had been last week. School was out officially in a few days, and then Dean was free. He was good and free to work and live as he please and he didn't have to drop out of high school. Take than, every single middle school teacher he'd had.

"Knock knock."

Dean looked up, seeing his father standing in the doorway, looking cleaner than he had in years.

"Everything go well with the pitch?" Dean asked, blinking away sleep from his eyes.

"Yes, actually, very well," John agreed, nodding distractedly. "I met a man - over voice call, of course, that lives way out west. Would you mind giving him a call for me and arranging a deal? He's unsatisfied with his current supplier, and runs one of the biggest mega-corporations on the planet. Signing him could set us for life."

"Will do," Dean agreed. "Tomorrow though. I'm whipped."

"No, he's so far behind us that you're going to have to do it at this time of night anyways. Get it done today, will you?"

Dean glanced at the clock. Today was only a few minutes long.

"Will do," Dean repeat, and stretched his hand out to take the sticky note with a scrawled on phone number and name.

 _G. Novak._

 _Crap. What?_

John had left the doorway, the hallway dark where he disappeared. Dean flicked the paper between his fingers before cutting his loses and picking up the phone. Long distance number. Rang twice.

"Hello?" The voice was light. Familiar.

"Mr. Novak," Dean began. "I'm Dean Winchester, son of John Winchester, I understand you spoke over a voice call with my father this evening and were interesting in negotiating a contract."

The other end is deafeningly silent.

"Dean?"

"Yes?"

"Oh my God."

"Who is this?" Dean said. "Mr. Novak?"

"I"m certainly _a_ Mr. Novak, yes," the other continued, and finally the light-hearted voice caught up with Dean brain. Oh. _God._

"Gabriel?" Dean squeaked out. There was a laugh on the other end, light and familiar as he remembered it, and he heard a click of some sort - like candy hitting teeth.

"Hello hello Dean Winchester," Gabriel quipped, and he could hear the squeak of a chair leaning back. "What brings you to the phone of my office?"

"You have a-" Dean paused. "I'm sorry, you work for your father?"

"We all work for our father," Gabriel sighed wistfully. "Last - and first - not to was Luci. Didn't go over too well with the old man. Now I'd love to chat, but I'm actually at work, so what do you need?"

"Well, as I said, we're interested in reaching an agreement. I'm going to admit we don't particularly know your specific needs, but we're confident they can be met."

"You don't know what my father's business is," Gabriel said, and it was a statement, not a question. "Let me enlighten you. We run _everything._ We do technology, we go motor vehicle, locomotives, we work with NASA, we sell our own brand of cola, we have eighteen separate chain restaurants and four hotel chains. We recently invested in a hospital and consequently a Cancer Research Clinic - but that's all Michael's choice, really. So tell me more, bucko, how exactly you plan to meet our demands."

Dean was speechless. Mostly because he didn't know how to talk to Gabriel like they hadn't been friends.

Like he hadn't made-out with his brother.

"Well, we have the lowest pricing and the most reliable product. We can match any other corporation you might turn to."

"Buddy," Gabriel said, his voice patronizingly soft. "Why bother switching for the same thing? And besides, you might have the same quality, but you don't have the same relationship. I have no idea if you'll hold up your end of the bargain. Lockney's been doing pretty good for us for twelve years."

He was not making this pitch - but it was Gabriel. Gabriel. His friend, and they were going to shut him out?

They could really do with this win.

"Come on Gabriel," Dean said. "You know that I'm reliable. I'm not going to screw you over. Look - we can lower the price even further if that might make the difference up to you."

"I'm not going to tell you how to run your company, Dean," Gabriel said, and he could hear the swivel chair spinning. "But no you can't. And even if you could, you don't have nearly the factory space to supply us what we need. Or the trucks."

"A small investment now-"  
"Jesus, kid, are you reading from a pamphlet? I have a father to impress just as much as you do. Except my business is worth money," Gabriel said, and Dean could hear the shrug in his voice.

"Fine," Dean sighed eventually. He almost hung up, but Dean couldn't resist asking. "What's Cas' job?"

"Cas manages Monday Pizza," Gabriel replied.

 _Cas manages Monday Pizza_ will forever be the worst thing Dean had ever heard - because Monday Pizza wasn't just any old name, it was a staple in every mall food court, in all small towns, beside gas stations. It was good, but it was… Big.

"Honestly I think daddy's gonna set him in charge of all our food chains if he doesn't walk out like Lucifer did. Could go either way. Either he's gonna be a big shot up here in the corporate funhouse, or he's walking. If Hannah wasn't so pretty he'd probably be in charge of public relations and statements and managing twitter and all that." Gabriel went on and on and on but Dean wasn't even sure he was listening.

"At seventeen?" Dean scoffed eventually.

"Eighteen," Gabriel corrected. "And he won't get promoted until he's like twenty five. Our dad's not an idiot."

"Okay, but seventeen and manager of an entire chain restaurant?" Dean repeated.

"He's not just a child plucked from the streets," Gabriel scoffed. "We've all been groomed since day one to take over bits of the company. Whatever's allotted to us. Smaller and smaller portions as generations wear on. Gadreel will be under Cas's control as manager of a single store next year."

Dean was silent, so Gabriel continued.

"We're not your average public school rabble. We're _Novaks._ We a kickass family corporation and we're not playing the game, Dean, we _are_ the game."

"Cas attended public school," was all Dean could choke out.

"Yeah, with sixteen hours of school work on the side because he didn't attend the usual private education. Cas wanted to go to public school. He didn't even get to until grade nine. He had to fight for that."

"Wow," Dean said, shaking his head. "I guess I'll give you a call in the future, when we can meet your needs," he said.

Gabriel laughed.

"Don't," he said, still in a half-fake laughing fit. "You're batting in the big leagues now, kid."

The phone line went dead, beeping in Dean's ear. What the _Hell._

It was only just after midnight. He should go home. Be done with this day and clear his mind for whatever tomorrow brought. But he was scared Cas might own his bed, too.

Instead, he found himself dialling Cas's cell phone. Castiel didn't like phone calls, he knew that. He was a strict texter, something Dean kind of resented because of his phone's ability to text - but that had always been fine.

He didn't feel like texting now.

"Hello?" Cas answered, the familiar, gravelly voice confused at the phone call. Dean hadn't heard his voice properly in months now - always just the voice inside his head reading texts.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, feeling all his anger melt away. How could he be mad at Cas when they were playing the same game. Trying for the same things. They both wanted to impress their father. They both wanted to make their own lives. Family was the most important, and it had driven a wedge between them.

"Dean," Cas replied, sounding more quiet. When Dean didn't reply, he continued on. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"I just found out you're the company manager for Monday Pizza?" Dean said, and when there was an awkward silence he started laughing. "Oh my God, man, how does that not come up all the time?"

"It's a lot of work," Cas said. "When I'm not working, I don't want to talk about it," he replied, as if a real answer was necessary. "And I only just got the job, like, half a year ago."

"Still," Dean said, trailing off, and leaning back. He watched green neon lights blink at him from his desk's clock.

"You're father's company is going good, then, I take it, if you've discovered us?" he said, somewhat joking, Dean managed to hear.

"Excellently. I think I'm done, Cas, I think we managed to do it, somehow," he sighed, closing his eyes. "And I'm so tired."

"Well," Cas said, coughing a bit. "If you ever need any advice, just text, okay?"

Dean nodded, then remembered to add. "Of course."

"And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Make time for yourself. That's the first lesson I learned. Even if you never leave your father's side, don't forget that you have a personality too."

Cas' voice was soft and caring and gentle and it didn't offend Dean, in any way, but it did send a wave down his spine. Concern. Fear.

He wanted nothing more right now than to be back in the woods with Cas, overlooking the small town, not even seeing the view, just the two of them, skin and lips and voice. Perfect.

 _If you never leave your father's side._

He was going to leave his father's side someday...


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen:

 _A client is threatening to leave_ , Dean sent quickly, brushing his hair back with one hand and typing out the text with another. He straightened his tie, glanced in the mirror, looking over himself again. The phone buzzed back quickly.

 _Should they?_

 _No!_ Dean replied, scowling as he did so. Then added: _But I mean, probably. I would if I were him._

 _Then what are you going to do to make it not worth leaving?_

 _Lower rates?_

 _No - better product. Outline your step-by-step plan to improve your product over the next three months._

 _Okay. I don't have one of those._

Dean set the phone down while he moved over to Sam's door, banging heavily on it.

"I'm heading out!" he called. There was a hesitation before Sam mumbled something barely audible and Dean shrugged and went back to his phone.

 _What time is the meeting?_

 _4_

 _Then you have an hour and a half to make one._

Dean frowned again. Cas was particularly unsympathetic today. He should check the news to see if there's any new controversy springing up.

Heading out of the apartment and down the stairs he let his phone rest. He still preferred to walk most places, but it was getting harder and harder to make all his appointments. Today, though, he just had the one.

As we walked he kept hoping for another text to come in. It didn't.

It was Saturday morning when Dean decided to actually try and phone Cas. To his surprise, the boy picked up after the second ring.

"Yes?"

"Cas!" Dean said, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "How've you been doing?"

"Busy," Cas replied, his voice monotone over the speaker.

"And?"

"And a lot of work," he said, without really clarifying anything. "I've got a ton of paperwork, and since graduation I haven't really had an excuse to pass along the work to Gabriel or Michael or anyone more experienced."

"Okay, but outside of work?" Dean tried, picking at a hangnail with his teeth.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Cas said, and Dean could almost - _almost -_ hear the sigh in his voice.

"Maybe I want to," Dean mumbled. He heard Cas growl to himself, papers shuffling about.

"What about your meeting. How did that go?"

"It's fine," Dean snapped. "Dude left anyway but we're fine." He could feel Cas moving about wherever he was. The shift of the phone, the sound of air. Suddenly, it was windy in his right ear. Cas was moving.

"Well, always another client. What's your next move?"

"Dude, it's always business with you," Dean said suddenly. "What happened to the Cas that got happy-drunk on halloween?"

"You only seem interested in business," Cas said, and the words stung more than he would ever admit. "I thought that's what you wanted."

"Don't play the victim card," Dean sighed. "You know it's not like that."

"Have you done a lot of writing lately?"

Dean's eyes flicked up, catching the printed, fifty-page manuscript he had indeed been writing. About half of it was covered in red pen scribbles from his rudimentary editing sessions. He stared at it a moment.

"No," he replied. "Not really."

"The kids had the high school really want to read more from you," Cas said. "You almost had a cult following there."

"Yeah," Dean huffed, looking up to the ceiling. He didn't like the phone - he didn't know where his eyes should go. When he focussed them, he found something to look at. A crooked painting on the wall. Dust on a shelf. A scratch in the paint. When he didn't focus them, his mind seemed to wander. He couldn't talk. He tried to focus on the deepness of Cas' voice, and the way he used to smile only with his eyes. He tried and tried, but he missed him _so badly_.

"Big news, talking about writing," Cas said. "Have you heard about Chuck?"

 _Have you heard about Chuck_ was almost offensive. No he had not. In fact, both Chuck and Charlie had escaped his notice for many weeks now. Months, maybe. Off to broader horizons. He was pretty sure Charlie was backpacking someone in Spain - or Switzerland, maybe - with some girl she'd met. Chuck was… who knew. Applying to Universities. Maybe he was already going to class. He hadn't been very up to date with his texting.

"No, what happened with Chuck?" Dean said, running a hand over his eyes.

"He got picked up by a big publishing company," Cas said. "His work's going to be displayed all across North America."

"Really?" Dean said, genuinely happy but also a little surprised. "Which story?"

" _I Am God_ ," Cas said. "The one with the squirrel that turns into a human? Have you read it?"

Dean shook his head, then corrected himself. "No, I never did. I'll have to pick it up when it comes out. When is that?"

"Next November - just after Halloween."

Halloween. What mixed feelings that holiday brought to him.

"We're throwing a release party the week before," Cas said quietly. "If you're willing to make the trip, you're invited," he added, his voice dropping even further.

Dean swallowed nervously, glancing along his wall and up towards the calendar. Last week of October? It was so far away. What were the chances he'd be able to miss an entire week, especially just for one day. It was such a long drive - and Dean wasn't comfortable spending that sort of money on a plane ticket.

But on the other hand, the prospect of seeing Cas and Chuck and Charlie and everyone else was too appealing. He closed his eyes, picturing it now - Charlie, bringing in alcohol it was finally legal for them to have. Chuck, resisting until said alcohol kicked in. Maybe they'd go for a drive, maybe they'd play board games or watch stupid movies. Either way, it would be perfect and fun and relaxing.

It would be kid-like, he thought. Ever since moving to New York, he hadn't felt like a teenager. Being with the others, that was the first time everything hadn't been about survival. It had been living. Real living.

And Cas would be there. Cas, with his scruffy hair. Cas, with his unbelievably blue eyes. Cas, with his everything. Cas, grinning. Cas, laughing. Cas, Cas, Cas.

Dean was losing his mind. He thought maybe going back might help.

"We'll see," Dean promised, but he knew his voice sounded thin.

"I know," Cas agreed, and the heartache Dean could hear made him want to scream. No! No! No! You don't see! You don't know! This isn't it. This isn't me. This is survival. This is necessary. This is life, now. Life is busy. Life is work. Life is work and busy and soon, soon there will be more. Soon he would be there.

He hadn't touched a car engine in months.

He didn't think he was surviving.


End file.
